


Better Than Pie

by Fehnryr



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Based off the movie Better Than Chocolate, Dean and Cas are in early 20's, He's kind of a dick but he tries, John is not a complete dick, Lucifer is Called Luke, Luke is a FTM transgender, M/M, Multi, Plus not so quiet couch sex, Sam is still in high school, formerly Lucinda, rollercoaster ride of sexuality and self discovery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-23
Updated: 2015-01-23
Packaged: 2018-03-08 17:34:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 24,155
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3217649
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fehnryr/pseuds/Fehnryr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean Winchester moves to Vancouver after high school to go to college and discover parts of himself that he’s had to keep under wraps for his entire life in Lawrence. Law School doesn’t really work out, but he finds great friends, a sense of freedom, and a job that’s never boring to say the least. Just as a travelling artist in a trenchcoat comes into his life to make things even more interesting, Dean’s father calls with news. </p><p>	The apartment they’d lived in nearly all their lives has been condemned; John and Sammy are coming to live with him in Vancouver. Dean’s got under a week to find an apartment and shove his new lifestyle back in the closet before his family arrives… and just as his relationship with Castiel was starting to go somewhere.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Better Than Pie

**Author's Note:**

> Notes: This story is a retelling of the movie “Better Than Chocolate” with characters from Supernatural. Because of this, it reads more like a movie than a story. There are “cutscenes” and jumps from past to present. I have tried to make these transitions more noticeable by use of italics vs. non italicized text and breaks between major cutscenes.
> 
> I truly hope you enjoy this story, as it is the first I have ever finished entirely and I am extremely excited about it. If you have never seen the movie “Better Than Chocolate”, I highly recommend it. For those who have seen it, or if you are curious, here is a breakdown of the characters I have replaced: Dean - Maggie // Castiel - Kim // John - Lila // Michael - Frances // Gabriel - Carla // Sam - Paul // Crowley - Tony // Lucifer - Judy
> 
> I tried to keep everyone as “in character” as possible without changing the structure of the story. The most OOC characters are Michael and Lucifer. Michael is a foul-mouthed bookstore/sexshop owner and Lucifer is a FTM Transgender with a crush on Michael. Crowley is also OOC, as he is portrayed as somewhat homophobic. Which he is clearly not in canon. He was just the only character that fit “Tony”
> 
> Lastly, if I have portrayed any characters or their sexualities in an offensive manner, please let me know and I will do my best to correct anything that needs to be corrected. This story is a rollercoaster ride of sexuality, self discovery, friends, and family. 
> 
>  
> 
> **If you click the [x] before a song starts in the story, it will take you to youtube and play you that song! If you can, I highly recommend it :) One of the songs will take you to spotify because it's not on youtube, but it's worth the trouble.**

 

**[[x](http://youtu.be/NphXb6T24Bs)]**

_“I would really… Love to see you naked, baby…”_

__

_“I would love to… see you tremble with delight.”_

__

_The lights pulsed to the beat of the music, the tune interspersed with catcalls and cheering. The leather clad devil rocked sideways and pulled himself off the green eyed angel, who lifted his own body from the stage floor in a fluid motion and swayed his hips to the bass._

__

_“I would love to… come inside your window, baby…”_

_“Come on, baby… oooh-ah sexy.”_

_The angel traced a suggestive trail down his naked chest with one hand before strutting across the stage. A white feather from his strap on wings came free and he blew it into the crowd with a smirk._

__

_“I could take you on a very sexy ride,” he mouthed the words and winked at a table of onlookers._

__

_“Sexy,” The devil and human on stage followed up._

__

_“Boy, I want it, all day everyday so give me…”_

__

_“Your touch.”_

__

_“It’s such a rush boy, when it comes to makin’ love…” The angel thrust his hips seductively, then turned on his heel._

__

_“Sexy”_

__

_“Well, boy, you know you’re so se-e-e-xy.”_

 

Dean pulled his leather coat tighter across his bare chest, trying to block out the cold. He could still hear the club’s pulsing music behind him and his fluffy white halo still bobbed above his head, but he’d nearly forgotten it in the rush of attention. His head was in the clouds, as cliche as it sounded, and he almost didn’t notice the two sneering men leaning up against a car in the parking lot. He strutted past them, hoping they would leave him to his good mood, but no such luck. They pushed off the car and one circled behind him. He kept walking.

“Hey man, you still got those fuckin’ allergies?” the bigger one asked his companion.

“Fuck you, man,” the second retorted. Dean wondered if they were drunk.

“Look at the little baby angel fag, you goin’ home early?”

“What is that?” The other said, flicking at his halo.  

Dean huffed. “I don’t want any trouble,” he said, trying to sidestep them. He’d had a great night, his mind was comfortably fuzzy with alcohol and he was running on four hours of sleep that happened eighteen hours ago.

“I asked you what that was,” the shorter one said again, getting close to Dean’s face. “Can I have an answer, please?”

“Excuse me,” Dean growled.

**  
  
**

_“I could rub you… underneath the covers, baby.” The devil and human linked arms and gyrated together as the angel stepped out in front of them, flicking his tongue out and tapping his finger to it. He snaked a hand suggestively close to the waistline of his pants and fingered at his belt._

__

_“Ooh, I’d love to…”_

**  
  
**

A horn blared and Dean got an eyeful of headlights from a van that was coming at them way too fast. The two men harassing him shielded their eyes and stepped back, narrowly escaping the van as the driver slammed on the brakes.

“Fuck this, I’m outta here,” the shorter one bit out, heading toward the parking lot’s shadows. Nothing more than drunk opportunists, apparently. Dean squinted into the bright light and the van door creaked open.

 

_“You know I could… make it last forever, baby.” Hands in the air, the angel rocked his whole body to the music, lost in the beat and the heat of the crowd._

__

_“Baby, let me…”_

__

_“Oooh-ah sexy.”_

**  
  
**

A man Dean’s age hopped out of the van and rounded the front, beige trench coat flapping around him. “Are you okay?” he questioned, eyes flicking from Dean to the retreating men that he’d nearly run over.

Dean blinked against the light, wondering if he’d had more to drink than he thought. His rescuer was definitely handsome, but it was the genuine concern for Dean that showed in the stranger’s eyes that made his breath catch. “Yeah,” he sputtered after a moment. “Yeah, I’m okay.”

His rescuer watched him for a second more, then nodded. “Okay,” he mimicked with a small smile. Then he turned and ducked back around the side of his van, climbing back in and pulling the door shut.

 

_“Sexy,” The angel shook his ass and the motion made his wings flap. He grinned at the ensuing catcalls and stepped aside for the devil._

__

_“Boy, I want it, all day everyday so give me…”_

__

_“Your touch.”_

 

Dean blinked the rest of the stars out of his eyes and started walking again, glancing behind to watch the van park in front of the club. He considered walking back to thank the man properly, but lost his nerve at the last second and turned back toward home.

**  
  
**

 

_“It’s such a rush boy, when it comes to makin’ love…”_

__

_“Sexy”_

__

_“Well, boy, you know you’re so se-e-e-xy.”_

 

The man slipped out of the van and watched Dean’s retreat appraisingly, then pocketed his keys and turned toward the club.

 

 

_“Oooh-ah all night.” The angel gave the crowd one last wink before spinning on his heel and strutting off the stage as the song wound down behind him. “All night.”_

__

_The DJ took up the microphone as the lights dimmed. “Oh, yummy,” he purred. “Give it up for Dean from Ten Percent Books, making his lip-synching debut here tonight at The Cat’s Ass. And remember boys, he is s-s-i-i-ngle.”_

\--

Horns honked and bicycles chimed outside, but Dean tuned them out in favor of a few more minutes of sleep. He was almost able to drown it all out, but then the phone cut through the last of his dream-like haze and he threw the covers back. He didn’t bother with clothes, just stumbled through the store in his boxers and grabbed for the desk phone. “Ten percent books,” he said, trying to sound awake.

“Son?”

“Ten percent…” Dean’s mind faltered.

“Dean?”

His eyes popped open. “Dad?”

“Son, I just got this letter from the University. Had your name on it so I opened it.”

“Shiiit,” Dean hissed, away from the phone’s receiver. He rubbed a hand over his stubble and glanced around.

“Confirmation of your withdrawal from school,” John said gruffly. “I thought you wanted to be a lawyer?”

“Yeah, well…” Dean wracked his brain for something, anything.

 

“Son, I’ve been trying to track you down for days. What’s up with this?”

John knew where he was. Dean stumbled over a box of books and found his pants, balancing the phone as he tugged them on. “Yeah well,” he started to grab his laundry off the floor. “I decided it was time I learned about… life. From, uh… life?” he sputtered dumbly, cramming his dirty shirts the duffle bag beside the couch. “And, uh-” he had to think of something to say to keep his dad from freaking out. When in doubt, lie. “I’ve got a really great apartment.” He glanced out the window, suddenly feeling like he was being watched. “In a really… interesting part of town.”

“Yeah?” John prompted, sounding skeptical.

Lie, lie, lie. “It’s big and… it’s cheap,” Dean rattled off, grabbing his favorite pocket knife off the coffee table and tossing it into his duffle with everything else.

“An apartment? Really?” John suddenly sounded more hopefully then skeptical. Dean thought he heard shuffling on the other end of the phone. “Funny, I was actually calling because,” he paused and Dean heard what sounded like a suitcase zipping on the other end of the phone. “Well, the building’s been condemned…”

Dean huffed, “finally?” Their old apartment was an absolute dump.

“Yeah. They’re tearin’ it down on the first of the month. And, ya know, I was worried about what we were gonna do but, if the apartment’s as big as you say it is… Sammy and I could come stay with you.”

Dean froze in the middle of packing up his jeans. “Wha- you-”

“I know it’ll be hard on him, having to transfer-” John continued. Dean could hear Sammy in the background complaining already. “Is there a high school near you?”

“No… I…” Dean couldn’t find words, but John wasn’t listening.

“Anyway, I gotta go talk to the bank and throw our furniture in storage… and then we’ll be there on Friday. Okay?”

“Dad, no-” Dean choked out to no avail.

“Thanks, son. I knew I could count on you. See you soon. Sam says hi.”

The line clicked off and Dean stood frozen in place, clutching the phone. “He’s coming here.” Dean said out loud, testing it on his tongue. “To live with me.”

Michael chose that moment to make an appearance, pushing back the beaded curtain and pointing with the hand that held his coffee.

“No, no, no, no, no he isn’t. This is my bookstore, where you work and where I let you sleep on the sofa in the back until you find a place.  Which will be very soon, because your father’s not coming here.” He thrust a newspaper into Dean’s hands and took the phone. “Try the sublets.”

Dean stared down at the newspaper, still in shock.

“And tell your father you’re fucking queer before somebody else does.”

\--

The afternoon sun was hot on his shoulders when Dean finally came to a stop in front of the sixth and last place on his list. He could hear seagulls and everything smelled like fish, not to mention the building looked more like a warehouse than a home. He was desperate, though, so he tucked the newspaper into his back pocket and started the hike up the stairs.

The woman in the apartment was direct and to the point, but Dean couldn’t be happier. “Four weeks only, then I’m back.”

Four weeks would be enough time to get his dad off his back and out of Vancouver. “I was sleeping on the couch where I work,” Dean said, “and it’s a lo-o-ong story.”

“I don’t want to come back to any surprises,” the owner said sharply, packaging what looked like a detailed silicone replica of lady-parts.

“Where are you going?” Dean asked, before considering that he might not want the answer to that question.

“I’m off Thursday. On the “Love That Latex” Safe Sex Tour?”

“Oh,” Dean said, feigning recognition.

“I’m giving safe sex demonstrations from Tuktoyaktuk to Yellowknife.” Dean raised an eyebrow as the woman scrubbed at the fake pubic hair on a model. “So, you wanna take it?”

“Hell yes.”

“Cool.”

\--

Michael was practically frothing at the mouth when Dean got back to the shop. “What- what titles?” he sputtered.

“I don’t know,” Gabriel shrugged as he crossed the room, duster in hand.

Michael gestured wildly from behind the desk. “They’re holding up my _fucking_ books at the _fucking_ border again and they won’t even tell you what _fucking_ titles?”

“These people don’t _fuck_ , that’s the problem.” Gabriel lifted one of the dildos off the shelf to dust around it, then set it carefully back in its place.

“If any of those idiots from Customs call, I’ll be on the phone to the Civil Liberties Association,” he spat. Gabriel gave him a pitying look. “This is going to ruin me.”

Sensing a lull in the conversation, Dean stepped in with his freshly brewed coffee in hand. “Good afternoon,” he drawled out.

“Afternoon,” Michael responded shortly. “Did you find a place?” Dean could tell he was rearing up for an attack if Dean said no.

“Yes,” Dean smirked, catching him off guard.

“You did?” Gabriel followed him across the room.

“Yes.”

“...Good,” Michael muttered, heading back to the phone. Dean watched him with a raised eyebrow.

“Customs held up another order of books at the border,” Gabriel explained. He hadn’t seen Dean lurking around the corner while Michael was hissing and spitting about it. “They’re claiming the books are pornographic… Hell-loo?” Gabriel rolled his eyes and waved his duster around with a flourish. “Which they aren’t. Well, maybe “Butches in Chains” is… but so what?” Dean chuckled and set down his coffee, then suddenly Gabriel was right at his shoulder. “You were great the other night at the club,” he purred. “And Dean-o, I didn’t know you were looking for a place to live. You could stay with me, I’ve got some new toys” He waggled his eyebrows and Dean just rolled his eyes, but Gabriel was never one to be discouraged. “Transparent fleshlight, Flamenco Jelly Caribbean Vibe,” he paused for emphasis, “ _The Great American Challenge-_ ”

“No but… thanks,” Dean cut him off, busying himself with his walkman.

“Ouch, it’s the plight of the bisexual. Gay boys won’t play with you,” Gabriel said dramatically.

“You’re not bisexual, Gabe,” Dean chuckled. “You’re omni-sexual. You’re like that tornado in the Wizard of Oz, sweeping up everything in your path.”

“You need to let go more,” Gabriel countered, turning away and bouncing back across the room to continue his dusting.

“Yep, that’s me. Letting it all hang in. Oh, Gabe? My father and my brother are coming to stay with me. I don’t want you to scare them, alright?” Gabriel just stared back with a mischievous smile. “Promise?” Dean prompted.

“Promise,” Gabriel said, throwing his hands up. Dean didn’t believe him for a second.

\--

**  
  
**

Friday was nearing at an alarming rate, but Dean was as ready as he’d ever be. He’d moved his meager belongings from the shop’s couch to his temporary apartment and stocked up on food that he knew Sammy liked, as well as the alcohol necessary to go through with seeing his dad again. He was still a ball of nerves, though, and he was just about to go pick up a pack of smokes when someone called out to him.

“Hey, Squirrel!” Crowley, the owner of the coffee shop that shared a wall with Ten Percent Books was seated on the sidewalk across from a man with a large sketch pad. Behind the artist was a familiar van parked on the roadside with dozens of paintings propped up against it. Dean stopped in his tracks, eyes sliding back to the artist and, more recognizably, his beige coat.

Cool blue eyes locked with his own a moment later, and a grin broke out on Dean’s face. The young artist looked him up and down again, then returned to his painting.

“Can you believe he’s never been in my coffee shop?” Crowley said as Dean approached. “Tell him how great it is.”

“I just arrived,” the artist admitted in the same deep voice he used to ask Dean if he was okay so many nights ago at the club. “I haven’t been anywhere.”

“Come now, tell him it’s great, Squirrel.”

“It’s great, squirrel,” Dean mimicked in a bad scottish accent. The artist’s hand stopped moving and he glanced up at Dean with something like amusement in his eye. Dean turned to examine the paintings against the van while Crowley leaned forward to see the progress on his portrait.

“Ah, that won’t do. Couldn’t you add a bit more hair just up there?” He gestured to the portrait’s hairline and Dean smirked at the artist’s sigh.”I mean, what is art all about, honestly? Illusion.”

“Well,” the artist spoke, “to quote Whistler, a successful picture is the thrust, movement, countermovement, and final equilibrium of forms and colors in pictorial space.”

Crowley looked somewhat dumbfounded.

“Which means more hair,” the man clarified for him.

“Just a touch.”

The man sketched for a few minutes more and Dean moved from painting to painting. The styles and mediums varied widely, some realistic and simple while some where all but absurd. There seemed to be a running theme of angels, specifically archangels, in his work. Even the van upon which the art was propped was artfully decorated, certainly not one to be missed by any means. Finally Dean heard the rustling of paper and looked to see Crowley holding the finished product.

“My, what a handsome devil,” he purred. “Lovely. Would you like to know what I’ll do? I’ll hang this in my cafe. Everyone will see it. You stop by, free cappuccinos, it’ll be great for your business.”

“That does sound nice,” the artist said thoughtfully, “but it’s still twenty dollars.”

“Okay, fine. Free coffee for a month,” Crowley bargained, ever protective of his wallet.

“I am rarely anywhere for a month.”

“Coffee and genuine scotch from Scotland. Brought it over myself. Real kick; one hundred percent.”

“One hundred percent what?”

“One hundred percent kick, of course.” Crowley winked and removed himself from the seat. “Later, Squirrel.” He whisked off with the portrait in hand.

The artist watched Crowley retreat, then gave an exasperated sigh and gestured toward the chair. “Sit down,” he commanded.

“I don’t have twenty bucks,” Dean admitted sheepishly.

“Who does?” the man sighed. “Sit.” Dean hesitated for a moment, then bit the inside of his cheek and sank down into the chair. The artist watched him for a moment, blue eyes looking him up and down as if cataloging every detail in preparation for a drawing. “I’m Castiel,” he said finally.

“Dean.”

Castiel continued to assess him, making Dean shift nervously in his chair. He was used to people looking at him, especially when he performed at the club, but this was different. Maybe it was the intensity of Castiel’s gaze, or maybe it was the fact that he felt like he was having his mind read, but Dean felt like he was naked. “You have beautiful eyes,” Castiel said as he reached for a green colored pencil in his tray.

“Yeah?” Dean muttered. Castiel nodded. “So, uh, great van you’ve got there.”

“It’s my home,” Castiel said without looking up from the sketch he was now heavily invested in. “I travel around often.” Dean was surprised to find that Castiel’s words made him sad, in a way. He’d barely even had a conversation with the guy, but the idea of him packing his art up and moving on to the next town so soon left him feeling lonely, almost. Then Castiel looked up from his art, as if he’d heard Dean’s thoughts or read it in the curve of his lips, and said, “I’m not in any rush, though… Would you like to go for coffee, Dean?”

\--

Crowley brought out two coffees, black for Dean and with cream for Castiel, as well as two shots of scotch that he promised would knock their socks off.

“Dude, your coffee’s the same color as your coat. That’s gross,” Dean teased.

Castiel just raised an eyebrow, then glanced up at Crowley, who was waiting expectantly, and knocked back the shot of Scotch. His eyes watered a bit as it went down. “That’s not scotch,” he croaked, “it’s colored rubbing alcohol.”

“It’ll put hair on your chest, that’s for sure,” Crowley said, collecting the empty shot glass and leaving them to themselves. Castiel glanced down at his shirt-covered chest and Dean chuckled.

“All right, let’s see it.” Dean took the rolled-up sketch between them and flattened it across the table, studying the penciled lines of his face and the bright apple-green of his eyes. If he didn't’ know better, he’d say that Castiel had counted and replicated each individual freckle on his face, each scar and scratch. “You’re good,” he breathed.

Castiel nodded, expression serious. “You can tell a lot about a person from sketching them.” He moved a finger over the canvas to indicated something Dean couldn’t pinpoint. “Problems with your father,” he moved his finger again, “issues about higher education.” He brushed Dean’s penciled lips. “Single.”

Dean was stunned silent for the second time that day, lifting his eyes from the canvas to meet Castiel’s. “That’s just freaky,” he muttered.

Castiel’s face remained serious for nearly twenty entire seconds, then the corner of his mouth turned up just slightly. “I asked around,” he admitted.

“Oh,” Dean said simply, feeling again like Castiel was strangely out of his league. “And you, uh… are you?” He made a vague hand gesture, hoping it would get his point across.

“Single,” Castiel supplied. Beneath the small coffee table, he hooked his foot around Dean’s ankle. “Yes.”

Dean beamed at Cas, wondering how he, a nobody kid from Kansas, ended up in a cafe in Canada with a gorgeous guy. Imagine what his dad would think.

He stiffened. “Oh, sorry,” Castiel said, pulling his foot back.

“No, no,” Dean said quickly, “It’s… it’s my dad.”

“Where?”

“No,” Dean laughed, “not here. He and my brother are coming on Friday…”

“Today is Thursday,” Castiel pointed out astutely. He raised his eyebrow suggestively and Dean was suddenly struck with the urge to lean across the table and kiss him, patience be damned. He picked up his own shot of whiskey, knocked it back with a straight face, and did just that.

Or he tried to, anyway, but Crowley interrupted before their lips could meet. “Boys, boys, what in the name of hell do you think you’re doing?”

“Each other, I hope,” Dean muttered under his breath. Castiel cracked a smile.

“That sex shop of yours next door already scares away enough of my customers. I don’t need the two of you going at it in my cafe.”

“Oh please, Crowley. I saw you and that girl the other week on the coffee bar.”

“I’m a man, she was a woman. It’s different.”

“Is hand holding allowed?” Dean sneered sarcastically. They had the attention of several customers now, all of whom seemed to be waiting for Crowley’s response.

“Out,” Crowley sighed, jabbing a finger toward the door.

Dean wasn’t one to back down from a fight, but Castiel collected himself and stood. “I am out,” he said, extending his hand for Dean to take.

**  
  
**

\--

**  
  
**

Castiel’s van was parked right outside of the cafe and Dean took pleasure in the idea that the naked archangel painted across the side might turn away more of the cafe’s customers. It wasn’t that Crowley was a particularly awful person, he just cared more about his cafe’s profits than whether or not a few gays had their coffee.

“Shall we go back to my place, then? It’s not far.” Castiel stood at the van, holding the side door open. His poker face was so perfected that Dean almost didn’t catch the joke.

“Your place it is.” He stepped up into the van and Castiel followed.

The inside of the van was cozy, just as artful and unique as the outside. The paintings that had been on display earlier were carefully tucked behind the driver’s seat along with a few others that Dean found himself itching to look at. There were shelves, decorated with an odd assortment of items. Photos of Castiel and what looked like his family, trinkets and souvenirs from all of his travels, even a collection of empty coffee cans cluttering the corner. Castiel moved around quickly, making an effort to straight up, so Dean sat on the small bed at the back end of the van and watched.

There was a map beside him, old and frayed and heavy with pen marks. “Are these all places you’ve been?” There were dozens, and Dean found himself longing for the open road. He’d left his father’s Impala behind when he took off to Vancouver, but he still missed the long road trips they used to take in the summers of his childhood.

“The x marks are places I’ve been,” Castiel explained, sitting beside Dean and pointing out a few. “The circles are places I’d like to go. I connect them with lines to determine my path.” He traced the lines that brought him to Vancouver, a city with several x marks over it.  

“There’s where I grew up.” Dean tapped Lawrence, Kansas.

“I’ve been to Kansas City several times. I enjoy the Nelson-Atkins Museum of Art. Perhaps I’ve driven through Lawrence before.”

“It’s nothing too special.” Dean folded the map carefully and placed it on the milk-crate night stand. A shoebox on the floor caught his attention and he leaned over to pick it up.

“Oh, my cassettes. Like most of the things you see, I’ve picked up a lot over my travels. Would you like to listen to one?”

 

**[[x](http://youtu.be/M_y-CHghv3w)]**

The selection was incredibly varied and Dean only recognized a few, so he decided to play it safe and pluck out a well-worn CCR tape. Castiel took it and fit it into his tape player. “Pagan Baby” began to play out of the speakers and Dean stood, swaying over to Castiel and plucking at his coat. “Don’t need this, do you?”

Dean’s leather jacket quickly found itself on the floor with Castiel’s trench coat, and Dean was sliding his fingers up Castiel’s side and coaxing him into dancing with gentle pressure. Then the beat picked up and Dean stepped back, lifting his shirt just enough to tease Castiel with a peek of his skin. The artist followed and reached for Dean, who danced back. “Pagan baby, now won’t you rock with me?” Dean mouthed the words. He beckoned Castiel with a finger. “Pagan baby, lay your love on me.”

Castiel obliged, pressing Dean back onto the bed and draping himself over him. The stubble on Castiel’s cheeks scratched at Dean’s neck, followed by softer kisses up his jawbone. He found himself craving the roughness of it, savoring the contrast from the softness of all the girl’s he’d tried to convince himself he wanted. This was what he’d really been looking for when he took off to college and made a sharp left turn for Vancouver. This closeness, with the scent of paint and aftershave tickling at his nose and a spectacularly handsome man pressing him into a hard mattress, biting at his jawbone and moving toward his lips.

Their first kiss was long and languid, and at some point became their second and third kiss as well. Dean’s shirt was stripped from his body sometime between then and Castiel was raking his long, artistic fingers down the ticklish strip of his sides. “Cas,” he huffed out when those fingers swirled around his navel and worked their way back up.

“Yes, Dean?”

Words weren’t going to do the job with this one, so Dean leaned back up to capture Castiel’s lips again. He missed, though, because in one sudden movement the entire van shifted. “What the-”

The back end of the van started to rise and Castiel’s belongings slid on their shelves, some falling to the floor and rolling toward the driver’s seat. Dean was about to make a run for the door when Castiel started laughing, something he’d yet to hear in his time knowing the man. ”What’s going on?”

“I believe I’m being towed,” Cas said. Then the van lurched backward and Dean made a scramble for the bed. “Hang on,” he laughed.

\--

“One hundred and twenty five dollars,” Castiel sighed, looking up at his van.

“You’re just going to leave it here with all your stuff in it?”

“What choice do I have?”

\--

Cars flew past as Dean and Castiel made their way up the sidewalk, laden with several bags and a rolling suitcase of Castiel’s belongings. “I seek out festivals,” Castiel explained as they walked. “Sometimes I’m able to sell as many as ten portraits a day. It’s long work but I enjoy it. It’s freeing.”

“Sounds like it. I’ve always wanted to travel. Used to go on road trips around the country when I was little, but I never appreciated it the way I should have.”

“It can be lonely, at times.”

“So you just travel and draw portraits? Anything else?” Dean shifted the bag on his shoulder and squinted into the distance, trying to make out his temporary building among the others.

“On occasion I give lessons and do erotic paintings as well.”

“Erotic paintings?”

“Yes. First, I put the paint on the person,” he explained, and Dean shifted the bag to his other shoulder and listened intently.

\--

“Christ, son, give it some gas. We’re never going to make it at this rate.”

Sam scowled. “Where are we even going, again?”

“Wrote it down somewhere,” John mumbled to himself, shuffling through the papers on the Impala’s floor. He glanced up to find a street sign. “Hey, pull off there.” He pointed to a small diner with a sign that declared, “We Have Pie!”

Sam rolled his eyes and obliged.

\--

“Home sweet temporary home,” Dean announced, holding the door open for Castiel. They were both sweating by the time they finally hauled the last of his things into the building, and Castiel made straight for the couch.

“That was exhausting.”

“Beer?” Dean started for the fridge.

“I suppose, though I prefer wine.”

“Wine it is.” Dean poured them both a glass, glad that he’d thought to chill it before he left. When he turned around, Castiel was carefully arranging several flowers around a very bendy purple dildo. He nearly spit out the sip of wine he’d just taken. “What are you doing?”

“Better homes and dildos,” Castiel explained with a straight face. He stepped back to admire his work, accepting the glass Dean held out to him.

“My _father_ is coming. And my kid brother too.” Dean leaned forward and nipped at Castiel’s ear playfully.

“I’ll take them down tomorrow.”

“You’d better. Now tell me more about this erotic painting of yours.”

\--

Castiel spread the fabric canvas across the floor, pulling the corners tight and setting jugs of paint on each. The apartment was huge and full of empty space, and his canvases took up nearly all of the living room. “You’ll have to take off your clothes,” he said as he straightened his collection of brushes. “The paint is safe and non-toxic.”

Dean slipped out of his clothes as Castiel worked. The glass and a half of wine combined with the anticipation had left him embarrassingly hard, but he noticed he wasn’t alone in that when Castiel removed his own clothes as well.

“Ready?”

Dean stepped forward to the center of the canvas, only slightly self conscious of his nakedness. “Have at it.”

“The paint will be cold at first, but it’s fun. I promise.”

The paint was cold, and Dean shivered as Castiel dragged the coated brush down his spine, slowly as if he were counting each vertebrae. When it finally met his tailbone it curved to the left, then back and to the right, outlining the indent his belt left in his skin with gentle swipes. Another color, blue, joined the red and traced over each of his ribs in slow, lazy patterns. “Feel good?” Castiel asked quietly.

“Very,” Dean admitted.

Then Castiel moved around to the front of him, decorating his shins with circular patterns that moved upward with each brushstroke. Dean watched him work for a while, fascinated with the way Castiel’s brow would crinkle as he was trying to get something just right and relax when he moved back for a moment to admire his work. Then the brush began to tickle at the back of Dean’s knees and he closed his eyes, breathing shallowly and trying not to flinch at the sensation. With his eyes closed, he didn’t see Castiel pause to dip his brush in fire orange paint, but he felt it when the wetness dragged up the inside of his thigh. He gasped at the sensation, part in surprise and part in pleasure, and Castiel smiled like a cat. “It’s fine,” he said quietly, continuing his work.

Dean had to bite his lip to keep quiet when Castiel worked his brush higher, the slow swipes coming just shy of anywhere particularly intimate but still close enough to be sensual. He understood now why Cas had called it “erotic painting”, because despite what the end product of the painting might be, the process was essentially glorified and long lasting foreplay. After a few minutes, fire orange faded into a soft red color and extended up over his hip bones in a dotted pattern, then became a series of lines to highlight the muscles of his abdomen. Red became purple, fit between the lines of his ribs and meeting beneath his arms, then the darkest of blues dabbed over his chest made him the illusion of a living sunset. Castiel abandoned his brushes, tracing yellow stars into Dean’s chest and shoulders with his fingers. Then his fingers strayed, swiping over Dean’s nipples, and Dean moaned outright at the sensation.

Castiel was already blotchy with paint, so the bit that rubbed off when they kissed wasn’t of much concern. Then he smudged one of his stars and stepped back with a frown. “Hold on.” He dipped his finger back into the paint and fixed the star. Then, much to Dean’s surprise, he dipped it in again and traced a long line of paint down Dean’s erection, smiling at the groan that it earned him. “All right, lie down on the canvas before we get carried away and ruin my work.”

Dean did as he was told, carefully lowering himself onto the off-white material and pressing down on it to transfer the paint. Castiel nudged him then and he rolled over, allowing the paint on his back to transfer as well.

“Beautiful,” he murmured as he helped Dean back to his feet.

It was. Without ever explicitly tracing the outline of Dean’s body, Castiel had still made the subject apparent with a series of lines, swirls and dots of every color. They faded into each other beautifully, and even the bits that had smudged contributed nicely to the overall concept. “Can I do you?” Dean asked, admiring the work.

“That’s rather forward,” Castiel chuckled.

“Paint,” Dean coughed. “I meant can I paint you?”

And so Castiel handed his brushes over to Dean and stood still while Dean traced them over his thinner body, no particular end concept in mind. He used the green that reminded him of the long fields he’d driven past on his summer roadtrips, then the clear-lake blue that matched Castiel’s watchful eyes. With purple he painted war-streaks across his man’s cheeks and forehead, and with red he outlined the peaks of his collar and hip bones.

When he was finished, Castiel laid down beside Dean’s outline and rolled as well, and then they were side by side, immortalized in Dean’s new favorite artform.

“I want,” Castiel said when he stood back up, but Dean already knew and he pressed their sticky bodies together and kissed him long and hard. There was still plenty of unmarked canvas, so they fell to it and left strange half-body patterns as they rolled back and forth, lips pressed together and hands wandering. Castiel ducked down and bit gently at Dean’s nipples, then came back up and Dean kissed the paint from his lips. It was mostly tasteless, which Dean was glad for when he decided to bite at Castiel’s neck.

There was a bucket of sky blue beside them when they rolled again, so Dean dipped his hand in it and reached down to wrap his fingers around Castiel’s erection.

“Dean,” Castiel gasped, his back arching off the canvas. “Please?” So Dean stroked him, gently at first and harder when he pleaded for it. The paint was slick and warmed up nicely, so Dean didn’t mind when Castiel got the same idea and painted his cock with sunshine yellow. It made for an odd combination when Castiel rolled him on his back, climbed on top of him and took their erections in one paint covered hand, but as Castiel’s cock slid against his own, Dean couldn’t bring himself to care about the strange color.

“Cas, god,” he moaned, squeezing at fistfuls of canvas as Castiel moved against him. “I’m gonna-”

“Me-ah, me too,” Castiel rasped out, and neither one of them was particularly quiet about it as they came over Dean’s sunset body.  
  


\--

After the last of the paint spiraled down the shower drain, Dean and Castiel kissed beneath the warm water and considered what to have for dinner. They were sleepy and sated and almost didn’t hear the sound of knocking over the running water.

“Dean!” A muffled voice called, followed by more knocking.

“What the-”

“Come on, Dean, open up already!”

“Shit!” That was Sammy’s voice. “Turn it off!”

Castiel shoved the faucet’s knob over and the water ceased, leaving them both dripping and wide eyed. Dean could hear his father’s voice outside now as well.

“Your family?” Castiel asked.

Dean squeezed his eyes shut. “They’re not supposed to be here…”

“You know,” Castiel said, stepping toward the shower door, “I don’t do family reunions so well…” He cracked the door open and reached for a towel. “I’ll go out the back door.”

“No!” Dean snapped in a panic.

“Well then, what are you going to tell your father?”

What was he going to tell his father? “Nothing.”

“Nothing?” Castiel looked unimpressed.

Okay, maybe not nothing. “Maybe a big fat lie?”

Dean left the bathroom first, running to the door with a towel around his waist and distracting his father and Sam so Castiel could make a run for his suitcase and get dressed.

“Hey, Son,” John greeted loudly, thumping Dean on the back. “It’s been a while.”

“Hey, dad,” Dean said with false cheer. “Hey, Sammy.”

Sam beamed at him. “Hi, Dean.”

“Sorry we’re early. It’s been a while since I got the Impala out on the wide open road. She’s got too much spirit for small town life, if you ask me.”

“Yeah, that she does.” Dean missed the Impala. He’d have to take Castiel for a ride now that it was here.

Speaking of the devil, Castiel came around the corner then, fully dressed and hair deceptively dry. “Oh, hey, um, this is Castiel.”

John shook Castiel’s hand. “Nice to meet you. I’m John.”

“And this is my little brother Sam.” Sam shook Castiel’s hand as well, scowling at Dean with a silent reminder that, little brother or not, he was still several inches taller. “Sasquatch,” Dean muttered under his breath.

 

“So, this is it, huh?” John glanced around. He didn’t seem to notice Castiel’s art project across the room. “It is big.”

“Yeah, home sweet home,” Dean said thinly. He didn’t missed the raised eyebrow from Castiel.

“Well, why don’t you go throw some pants on and help me lug up the rest of our crap?” John suggested, shooing Sam back toward the door.

“Yeah, sure thing.”

\--

Castiel had managed to rig up a clothesline of sorts to hang his canvas from, and was now tracing the outline of Dean’s body with a darker red-brown color in the living room. John watched with a raised eyebrow and Dean wondered if Castiel was purposely trying to torment him.

“Angels, huh?” John finally said, squinting at Dean’s sunset front. “Awfully scrawny and… colorful for angels, don’t you think?” Dean sighed. “Haven’t you ever heard of the Archangels? Powerful warriors that could strike down sinners with a single blow. Enormous wings and swords-”

“Would anyone like some wine?” Dean choked out, interrupting his father.

Castiel looked grateful. “Yes, that’d be lovely.”

John looked slightly disgusted at the idea. “Wine? Don’t you have any beer?”

Dean supplied two glasses of wine and a beer for his dad, plus a coke for Sam. When he turned around, John was eyeing a sex education book that the apartment’s owner had left leaning against the fridge.

“So,” Dean said too loudly, trying to draw his attention away. “I was thinking you could take the bedroom and,” Dean looked over to his brother, who was poking at a the neon green buttplug Cas had stuffed into a potted plant. “Sam,” he barked, “could bunk down in the hall?” He could see Castiel smirking from across the room. “Cas and I can take the back room.” John sipped at his beer and watched Dean for a moment, as if trying to figure something out. “Cas is just staying for a-”

“A while,” Castiel supplied, stepping back from his painting. He turned to look at John. “A short time.”

“Yes, son, I know what ‘a while’ is.”

\--

As soon as John excused himself to the bathroom, Dean grabbed the nearest empty box and started collecting all of the phallus shaped items he could find. Castiel’s “Better Homes and Dildos” collection went in first, followed by several butt plugs and strange toys that the owner had left around. When the living room was cleared he ran to the bedroom, tossing in the obscene looking alarm clock and several other objects.

“Night Dad,” Sammy called from the living room, and Dean could hear his father approaching, so he dropped the box and kicked it under the bed just in time.

“All set?” Dean asked when his father entered the room.

“Looks like. So, you work in a discount bookstore?”

Dean paused. “I do?” Then it hit him. “Oh, right. Ten percent.” He figured it wouldn’t go over well if he mentioned that the only reason they were called Ten Percent Books is because Ninety Percent Sex Toys didn’t make the cut. “Well, uh, got everything?” Dean slipped past his dad and made for the door.

“Should be fine.”

“Right. Night then.”

“Night, Son.”

\--

Dean and Castiel shifted on the couch, trying to find a place for all of their knees and elbows to comfortably coexist. “Sorry,” Dean muttered when he jabbed Castiel in the rib. Finally he sat up and started to shove Castiel over, hoping that the inside of the couch would be easier than falling off of it.

“Could this be love?” Castiel joked when Dean nearly kneed him in the crotch. They situated themselves and Dean nipped at Castiel’s exposed neck playfully.

They shifted some more and Dean tried to tug the blanket over him, but ended up pulling it off of his feet. “Damn it.”

“Must be love,” Cas whispered again. “I can’t imagine why else I would put up with this.” Finally he yanked the blankets completely off of them and threw them on the floor. Dean scrambled for them and Castiel laughed at him.

“Shhh!” Dean hissed, slapping his hand over Castiel’s mouth.

“Your father already knows,” Cas whispered.

“No! It would never even occur to him.”

Castiel rolled his eyes. “I’m sure.”

“No. But if he did know, I’d doubt he’d let me know that he knew.”

“Really. Well, perhaps if he did know,” Castiel whispered, “he’d give us the bed.”

In an effort to keep himself from laughing, Dean decided to kiss the smile off Castiel’s face. Castiel returned it enthusiastically, and suddenly the blanket’s absence didn’t leave Dean quite as cold. They switched places so slowly that Dean barely noticed it happening, but then Castiel was on top of him and they were two pairs of boxers away from entirely naked. “Cas,” Dean purred when their mouths broke apart.

“How quiet do you think you can be, Dean?” Castiel murmured, pressing their erections together and rocking his hips. Dean bit his lip hard, but managed to remain silent. “Very good.”

Dean was about to tell Castiel they should just go to sleep, but Castiel had something else in mind because he scooted a bit further down the couch and pulled Dean’s boxers free with one fluid motion. “Cas,” Dean sputtered, “Oh- oh god,” and then he was bucking his hips up unintentionally as Castiel swallowed him down. He let out a quiet keening noise and dug his fingers into the fabric of the couch while Castiel hummed around him.

Castiel sucked dick the same way he kissed and painted: slowly and with insurmountable passion. Where most people might hold him down, Castiel didn’t seem to mind when Dean’s hips rocked up from the couch and pushed deeper into his mouth. He took it in stride, kissing and sucking the length of Dean’s cock like he had all night. Dean was about to mention that he certainly wasn’t going to last all night when Castiel finally slid off and gave his cock one firm lick, but rather than come back up and put his tongue in Dean’s mouth where it belonged, Castiel moved lower and swiped his tongue across Dean’s hole.

“Son of a-!”

“Shhh, Dean. You don’t want your father to hear.”

And damn if that wasn’t just about the hottest thing he’d heard all night, however wrong that might be. He squeezed his eyes shut tight and focused on the feeling of Castiel’s tongue pressing hot and wet against his hole, something he’d never thought he’d like quite as much as he did.

“Dean, can I-” Castiel teased at his entrance with a finger.

Dean should have said no, he should have waited until his dad and Sam weren’t sleeping in the same quiet apartment, but Castiel was driving him crazy and all he could manage was a rough, “yes, god, yes” before Cas’ finger was sliding inside him and he was pushing against it for more. He didn’t hear the quiet pop of the lubricant’s cap, but he felt the cold of it when Castiel slid another finger in.

“Shh,” Cas reminded, and Dean realized he’d been making breathy noises to match the pace. He bit his lip again, and even harder when Cas arched his fingers up and hit some wonderful spot inside of him.

“Cas, fuck me,” he whispered, desperate for the closeness and spurred on by the adrenaline of know they could be caught so easily. It wasn’t that he was an exhibitionist, exactly, but the thrill of breaking rules had always spurred him on and this was extra-risky. By the moan that Castiel gave in response, he was certainly on board with the idea.

“You’ve got to stay quiet, Dean,” he commanded as he rolled on the condom he’d fished out of his abandoned pants. “Can you do that for me?”

Dean just nodded, not committing to a yes or no answer. He pulled Castiel back down so he could kiss his reddened lips. They stayed like that for a moment more, both listening to make sure nobody else in the apartment was up and moving around. When all they heard was silence, Castiel finally guided Dean’s knees up and pressed in.

The first thing Dean had done when he’d escaped the clutches of Lawrence and his father’s watchful eye was seek out a good looking guy to fuck. Since then he’d been with a handful of others, all looking for a fun time and zero commitment. And that was fine with Dean, but as Castiel slid into his body with a shuddery moan, he was suddenly struck with the realization that this was it. This was perfection, and the way that Castiel kissed a gentle path up Dean’s chest while he waited for him to adjust was nearly too much.

“Move, Cas, please,” Dean begged after a moment, and Castiel took his command to heart. It was almost embarrassing, the noises that escaped Dean’s throat despite his attention to keeping silent, and Castiel seemed to be spurred on by them more than anything. He was slow and gentle at first, but the gasps from Dean’s mouth and the nails that raked down his back made his nips turn to bites and his gentle thrusts turn rough and needy. Dean’s own erection was trapped between them, the friction from Castiel’s rocking body just barely shy of what he needed. He tried to reach down to stroke himself, but Castiel snatched up his wrists and pinned them above his head. “Fuck, Cas,” he groaned, squirming beneath the man.

“Wait for me, Dean,” Castiel murmured into his ear, nipping at the shell of it. “I’m getting so close, but wait for me. We’ll come together.”

Dean wanted to joke that it certainly wasn’t going to happen that way if Castiel kept talking to him in that deep scratchy voice of his, but Dean had long lost the ability to use actual words. He struggled playfully against Castiel’s hold and almost yelped when Cas squeezed his wrists tighter and shoved in hard. “Patience,” Castiel demanded, slowing the pace. He released Dean’s wrists and legs and leaned up closer, then slid nearly all they way out and back in again. Then he started rocking into Dean, slow and so much deeper, and if Dean had ever wanted to know the difference between fucking and making love, it was being demonstrated perfectly to him right now. Castiel’s cock was nudging up against his prostate on every slow, intimate thrust and without even being touched, Dean was on the edge of his orgasm.

Something in the hall fell over and he heard Sammy’s voice mutter “oh, shit!”

Castiel stilled and looked toward the source of the noise, but Dean whined and pushed himself back onto Cas’ cock. “Never mind,” he begged.

“You’re an animal,” Castiel chuckled, then he fucked in again and Dean lost it, coming all over his stomach for a second time that day.

Cas whimpered as Dean tightened around him. He waited until Dean was finished before he moved again, thrusting harder into Dean’s pliant body as he chased his own orgasm. “Come for me, Cas,” Dean finally whispered, and Castiel did just that.

\--

“Goood morning,” Dean greeted when his brother stumbled into the kitchen.

“Morning.” Sam went to the fridge and grabbed some orange juice.

“Shouldn’t you be in school or something?”

Sam came to sit at the table, dropping a donut in front of Dean and taking a bite of his own. “Starts Monday,” he said when he finished chewing. “Then I write my scholarship exams. Unlike you, I will get into law school.” He grinned, well meaning in his taunts. “And wipe that smile off your face or dad’s gonna know you got laid.”

Dean almost choked on his orange juice. “So why are you guys here, anyway?”

“Guess some of that shoddy wiring finally started a fire two places down. Dad freaked, said he wasn’t gonna have us going up like mom. He called in an electrician to get the place looked over. One thing led to another and they condemned the building by the end of the week. Guess it was one strong wind from blowing over or something.”

“Poor dad. He’s been there forever.”

“Yeah, but I think it’ll do him some good to get out.”

**  
  
  
**

\--

Dean and Castiel waited as the fax machine spit out the message inch by inch.

> _CUSTOMS_
> 
> _14208 Whitey Ave._
> 
> _Port Coquitiam, BC_

__

> _Books held at Canadian Border for Ten Percent Bookstore. Contact our head office immediately regarding this matter. Book list is as follows:_

“Oh god,” Dean muttered.

> _Homo Sluts_
> 
> _The Gay S/M Virtual Sex Manual_
> 
> _Little Red Riding Hood_
> 
> _Herotica_
> 
> _Gay S/M Safety Manual_
> 
> _Contracts With The World_
> 
> _A Guide to Anal Safe Sex_
> 
> _Butches in Chains_
> 
> _Anal Pleasures and Health_
> 
> _Indecent Display: Gay and Lesbian Images_
> 
> __
> 
> _Regards,_
> 
> _Customs._

**  
  
**

Castiel pressed his stencil to the window and filled in the letters with red paint. On the inside of the shop, Dean set up a display of boxes, all painted with the same stencil. CENSORED, they red in varying shades of red, black and silver.

“I don’t need another window display,” Michael was complaining in the background, “I need a lawyer.” He glanced at the list again. “ _Little Red Riding Hood?!_ What is going on with Customs?”

“Little Red Riding Hood and the Big Bad Wolf? That Little Red Riding Hood?” Gabriel asked, crossing the room with an armful of books to shelve. “Do we stock that book?”

“A customer ordered it for her niece. They’re trying to ruin me, Customs. That’s what it is.”

Before Michael could gripe any more, a tall man clad in a dressy black and white outfit swept into the shop, closed the door and turned around quickly. “Attention, shoppers,” he said. “I got a letter,” he sauntered towards Michael’s desk, “from my father today!”

“The same father that told you to drop dead? That father?”

“Yes! No. Well… What I mean is his lawyer wrote me, and he says my parents are going to buy me a condo. So that after the surgery, I’ll have someplace to go, you know, to recuperate, to have some sense of security-” he pushed the letter into Michael’s hands, “I mean, wow, not a word for them since I told them. Nothing in two years and now this,” he placed a hand over his heart. “They miss me!” Michael looked at him skeptically, not wanting to burst his bubble. The man didn’t seem to notice. “i’m going to write them and invite them for a housewarming party.”

“Dude, buy the condo and move my father in,” Dean called from the window display.

“How is your dad? And I see you have a new friend.” He nodded toward Castiel, who was struggling to open the door with his armful of paint and stencils. Dean leaned over and pushed the door open for him.

“Yeah, Cas is…” He glanced at the blue eyed man and grinned. “Staying with me.”

Castiel rolled his eyes. “Yes. And his father. And his brother.”

“Ooh, sounds complicated!” Gabriel floated over and winked at Castiel. “You know, I have an extra room.”

Dean rolled his eyes. “This is Gabriel,” he introduced to Cas, “and Luke,” he gestured to the man at Michael’s desk.

“Nice to meet you,” Luke said, extending a hand. Castiel brushed off his painted fingers to the best of ability and shook. “So I was thinking of the Heritage Peak condos they’re putting up down the street,” Luke said, continuing his conversation from before. “Do you think your dad and I could live there?”

“Cheap and tawdry goods masquerading as quality,” Michael commented from the desk, rolling a cigarette.

Luke did an about face, as if he were seeing Michael for the first time. “Comme moi.” Michael nearly dropped his cigarette. “I’ll be a Heritage Homo.” Luke said, leaning across the desk. “Michael, now that I’m almost a man of almost means, I was wondering if maybe you’d like to go out with me sometime?”

Michael stuttered, “Well, you know… I’m- ah- really, really, really busy. There’s practically a war on here. Excuse me.” He collected a few of his magazines, stuck his cigarette in his mouth and made for the back room.

“You can run, but you can’t hide!” Luke called after him.  Hearing Dean and Cas chuckling, he turned back to them. “So, have you told your father about your honeymoon yet?”

When Dean hesitated, Castiel answered for him. “No.”

“I want him to leave,” Dean protested, “I don’t want to kill him with the shock.”

“Oh come on, he can take it. Parents can be very resilient. What does he do all day?”

“Mostly just works on the Impala. Looks for junkers to fix up. Eats pie.”

“Hmm, he sounds lonely.”

\--

John scowled at the wrench he was using and tossed it to the side, picking up another and seeing if it was a better fit. That one didn’t quite cut it either, so he rolled out from beneath the Impala and went to go rifle through his tool selection.

“Hello, sir. Is Dean home?”

“Huh?” John looked up to see a tall, thin and sharp dressed man. He had a homemade pie and a six pack of beer with him.

“No, he’s not. Him and that Castiel boy went out again.”

“Oh… I brought him these as a housewarming gift. Well, for all of you, really.”

“Ah,” he eyed the beer. “Good stuff. I’m John.”

“Nice to meet you. I’m Luke. Just think of me as the Welcome Wagon.”

John grinned. “Ah, well. You want to come in?” He gestured up the stairs and Luke nodded.

Inside, John cut two slices of pie and added ice cream, then set them at the table. Luke passed him a beer and they sat. “Cheers?” John asked, holding up his beer.

They clinked the bottles together. “Cheers. And welcome.”

“Great pie,” John commented, digging in. “So how does a sharp dressed guy like you come to befriend my boy, Dean?”

“Oh, we met through a friend. Dean’s boss, actually. He’s a great kid, very smart.”

“Yeah, I guess. I just wish he’d use his brain more. Dropped out of law school and he doesn’t even have a plan, far as I can tell.

“He’ll figure something out. He’s a spirited one.”

“That he is. Got it from his mother, may she rest in peace. But-”

“But?”

“What is going on with him these days. Do you know?”

Luke opened his mouth and closed it again, then stood and walked over to Castiel’s hung up canvas. “You’d have to ask him that,” he answered vaguely, staring up at the figures. It wasn’t hard to tell how they’d gone about the painting.

“But there is something going on?” John pressed.

“He’s twenty one. There’s _always_ something going on when you’re twenty one.” Luke glanced at John’s empty plate. “More pie?”

“Yes, please.”

John sat at the table and stared at the label on his beer while Luke cut the pie. After a moment, when Luke set the plate before him, he said, “Did you ever wake up one morning… and feel like everything in your life was wrong?”

“Mmm,” Luke responded, sinking into his chair and trying not to laugh at the irony.

“Because I woke up one morning last month and, and I know this sounds ridiculous because middle aged, single men aren’t supposed to have existential crises.”

“I think anyone is entitled to their existential crises,” Luke commented.

“Well I woke up one morning and realized, I’ve been living in this shabby apartment raising my two sons since my wife passed. Same life, same job, everything. Sure, the building being condemned helped to move things along, but I feel like I had a choice right then and there to either carry on or do something better with my life.” John paused for a minute, rolling his beer in his hand, then laughed. “Sorry, I’ve had a few today.”

“Well, here’s to new beginnings, I suppose.” Luke raised his beer for another toast.

“To new beginnings.”

\--

Dean scrubbed hard at the graffiti on the sidewalk, amused by the grumbles coming from a few feet over where Crowley was doing the same thing.

“God loves you,” a passing missionary said to him, holding out a flier.

“I’m a bit busy at the moment,” Crowley responded rudely, glaring at the women. She snatched her flier back and continued down the sidewalk.

“Jesus loves you,” she tried again, holding the same flier out for Dean.

“Thank you,” Dean said cheerfully, accepting the flier with a toothy smile. “Can you still read ‘Die Faggot Die’, or do you think I’ve finally gotten it all off?”

The woman’s eyes went wide and she clutched the fliers tight to her chest. She shook her head mutely for a few seconds, then darted away and down the sidewalk. Dean dropped his sponge and laughed hard.

“Hey Squirrel, you know we never used to have graffiti around here. Never.”

“Oh yeah, I think it’s my window displays.” Dean picked his sponge back up and kept scrubbing.

“Indeed. You know, first it’s graffiti, then they start breaking windows. Heaven knows what comes after that. Certain people, you don’t want to attract their attention. Yes?”

“Sure.”

“I don’t need people writing “Fairy” on my coffee bar. Honestly, do I look like a Fairy to you?”

Before Dean could come up with something clever to say back, Michael whisked out of the shop, suitcase in hand. “Come on, you’re riding shotgun.”

“Ooh, where we goin?” Dean stood and brushed his soapy hands off on his jeans.

“Customs, baby.”

“Hey, hey, hey!” Crowley called after them as they piled into Michael’s car. “Who’s supposed to clean this shit up now, huh?”

 

\--

“Excuse me,” Michael said to a passing guard, “Can you direct me to Mr. Marcus’ office?”

“Downstairs, turn right.”

“Thank you.” They turned around and ran back down the stairs they’d just come up. “Buildings like this are designed along the lines of a rationalist conspiracy,” Michael explained as they passed door after door. He poked his head into one or two, shutting them again quickly. “The thing is not to be discouraged. Just know where you’re going and go there.” He opened another door and reared back. “Oh, I’m so sorry.” He slammed the door again. “Don’t ask.”

“Oh boy,” Dean muttered as they tore off down the hall again.

\--

A grim looking man in circular glasses and an unflattering suit stared at them from the opposite side of the desk. “The books have been classified as obscene material and will not be allowed through the border. Now, if I can just get you to sign here.”

“Little Red Riding Hood is obscene?” Michael challenged with a raised eyebrow.

“Well, we… we thought that was something else,” the man admitted, looking uncomfortable. He shifted some papers.

“I’ll be you did.”

“Our mistake. However, titles such as, ‘The Gay SM Virtual Sex Manual’ and ‘A Guide To A-a-a,’” he stuttered, “‘anal Safe Sex’ will remain here with us.”

“Something to read on those dark, lonely nights,” Michael quipped, and Dean tried to hide his smirk.

The man ignored him entirely. “If I could just get you to sign here, here, and here, you can have ‘Little Red Riding Hood’ back within the week.”

Michael stood and snatched the pen from him, then bent over and began signing the sheets. “Seriously, Mr. Marcus, the Supreme Court has declared that anal sex is to gay male sex what Mozart is to classical music.”

“Mr. Cohen, we are not here to discuss classical music.” Marcus lifted a stamp from his desk and smacked it down on the paper Michael had just signed. “I myself am a huge Mozart fan, but…”

Michael lurched out of his seat. “Look! The fucking _Supreme Court_ declared this material is not obscene!”

To his credit, the man didn’t back down. “In case you haven’t noticed, this is not the Supreme Court. We are here, in Customs,” he brandished his stamp, “and I have a job to do.”

“Oh just _following orders_ , are we? _Asshole_.” Michael spit.

“From your perspective, that must be a compliment of Mozartian proportions.”

Michael lunged, then, gripping the man’s shirt tight and rearing back a fist. Dean leapt up from his seat and grabbed Michael to restrain him, and the terrified man called, “Security, security!”

The door opened in seconds. “Do we have a problem?”

Michael froze, then released the man and turned around. “ _Adam_?” Adam’s eyes moved quickly, looking everywhere but at Michael. “Adam is that you? I haven’t seen you since the New York Pride Parade-” Adam reached out and grabbed Michael by the upper arm, dragging him out of the room roughly. Dean followed, terribly amused. “How is that man you were with,” Michael continued to taunt outside, as Adam guided them down the stairs and onto the sidewalk. “What was his name again?”

They were almost in the clear when Michael spotted Mr. Marcus, watching from the window the a satisfied smirk. “I’m going back in there,” he said, wheeling and starting back up the stairs. But Adam was there, arms crossed, and he stalled.

“I don’t think so,” Dean said, guiding Michael back down.

\--

**  
  
**

Dean shivered against the cold of the food freezer, dropping another handful of books into the barrel of water. It splashed up and caught him in the face, making his teeth chatter. Another handful of books went into the bucket, and another until it was full to the top with water and soaked reading material.

He unloaded the bucket back at the shop, dragging it indoors with the help of Castiel and Gabriel. It was lifted up onto the window display platform, set upside down, and then finally the bucket was dragged off and the frozen cube of ice was left behind. Dozens of obscene and sexual titles, frozen inside of an icy prison. Castiel stood outside with Michael, watching as it was unveiled.

“Wow,” he said when the bucket was taken away. “That is a great piece.”

“It’s a great piece of?”

“Art, Michael,” Castiel said flatly.

“The Ice Age destroyed the dinosaurs,” Dean explained once they were all back inside. “So I’m commenting on the dinosaur mentality of customs. Ultimately the cube melts, and the books are liberated.” He raised his hands into the air. Art class had paid off after all.

“But ruined,” Michael pointed out. “Liberated, but ruined.”

“It’s conceptual,” Dean shrugged.

“Ooh, yes! I love the layers of meaning.” Gabriel hopped off his perch on Michael’s desk and rounded the book-filled ice block.

“Like a popsicle!” Michael carried on with false enthusiasm. “There’s an orange layer, and a blue  layer, and a pink layer. Now, you’re going to clean up after your… conceptual? Once it starts to melt, right?”

Dean extracted himself from Castiel’s arms and nodded. “Oh, yeah.”

**  
  
**

\--

Castiel was sitting on the side of the tub, washing his paint brushes off when John came in with a few pairs of white shorts and a box of laundry dye. John began filling the washer silently, and Castiel thought he might get off without a conversation. No such luck.

“So, have you known Dean for long?” John asked, measuring out the color. Sam’s started school on Monday and his gym class required red shorts.

“No, actually. For about a week.”

“Seems like longer. Your boys are pretty close.”

“We are,” Castiel said, weighing his options. “That’s actually something I wanted to speak with you-”

“You know, he never really had any friends in high school. Got good grades, but he was always picking fights with the other boys. Wanted to be a lawyer, though. Him and his brother. I just don’t understand why he quit University. It’s what he always wanted.”

“Oh,” Castiel said, doubting it was the truth.

“Have you been to university?”

Castiel dropped one of his brushes off to the side and started rinsing another. “Art school.”

“Ah, art school. I went to art school, you know. Design.”

“Really?”

“Wanted to design cars. Camaros, Ferraris, Corvettes. They were all starting to become so sleek and fast. I had to give that all up, of course.”

Castiel bristled. “Why ‘of course’?”

“Well because, it’s stupid, really. I mean, if you can’t be great at something… if you can’t be the best,” he fiddled with the knobs on the washer.

“That’s ridiculous. What if it’s what you really love to do?” John didn’t respond. He threw a few more pairs of socks into the washer and shut the lid. “John, I wanted to talk to you about something…”

“You didn’t ask Dean to quit University, did you?”

Castiel looked up quickly. “No, no of course not. I didn’t.” John pulled the knob to turn the washer on and the water rushed loudly into the machine. Cas looked back down at his brushes, scrubbing at one that was already clean enough. “I did want to talk to you about him, though. And me. Um,” he cleared his throat, “I’m in love with him. I think he feels the same.”

Castiel waited for a response, then tentatively looked up when he got none. The room was empty. “Well, that went well.” He dropped his head and pressed at the center of his paint brush in frustration, frowning when it snapped in half.

\--

John stepped out of the Impala and straightened his jacket. New town, new job- he could do this. The shop was a decent size, and even if they were just looking for someone to manage the parts shipments, it wasn’t like he couldn’t work his way into the garage after a bit. Nodding to himself, he strode up the walkway and entered the room.

A man a bit younger than him stood near the desk, waiting with a folder clutched in his hand. The rest of the room was empty, so he cleared his throat. “Excuse me, but are you here for the job?”

The man looked him up and down, then nodded quickly and straightened his shoulders. “Yes sir.” He offered up the folder in his hands. “I can type one hundred and twenty words a minute. I can do spreadsheets, Lotus, and Windows.”

All qualities they’d be looking for in hiring a front desk man. John nodded and accepted the folder. “Well, I’m very sorry but the position’s just been filled. I’ll hang on to this, though, and I’ll give you a ring if anything comes up.”

The man frowned, then nodded shortly and excused himself. Not a moment later, the shop owner came in through the back door. “Are you here about the job?”

John tucked the other man’s resume into his briefcase and nodded. “That’s right.”

“Hmm. Thought there was someone else here.”

John looked around, then shrugged. “No, only me.”

“Okay. Well, come on back.”

John followed the man through the door and into his office. “You know, I do windows,” he said.

“Good, good.”

\--

**[[x](https://play.spotify.com/trackset/mediabar/3csV9olaG7nLUr3jmIhYtE/%23/0)]**

 

“Moondogg,” Castiel told Dean, pressing a cassette tape into his hand before turning to the kitchen. “It’s weird. You’ll like it.” Dean slipped the tape into the old player they’d found in the back room and hit play, then danced over to where Castiel stood in the kitchen, preparing to cook dinner. His advances were interrupted by his clumsy brother, who came out of the room with an armful of books.

“Watch it, Sasquatch,” Dean grumbled, narrowly dodging him.

“Sorry,” Sam mumbled, clutching at his schoolbooks. Dean had no idea how anyone could expect someone to do that much homework.

“Stir that,” Castiel instructed. He didn’t specify what to stir, exactly, so Dean just took up a spoon and started stirring the only pot on the stove that was bubbling.

John burst in through the door. “I got the job!” he announced, holding up a twelve pack of beer like it was a trophy. There was another one tucked under his arm and, by the look of it, John had already started in on the celebrations.

“Congrats,” Dean said, smiling stiffly. It’d be harder to get rid of him with a job.

“Beer, son.” John dropped the full pack into Dean’s arms. “None of that froofy wine shit.” Dean wanted to say that Castiel prefered wine and was not ‘froofy’, but instead he rolled his eyes and kept his mouth shut. “I’ll be in charge of the parts coming in and getting shipped out, but if I sell additional units of things like motor oil and tool boxes, I’ll get commission.”

“Awesome, dad,” Sammy chimed in, coming back from his temporary bedroom in the hall. “You’ll own the place in no time.”

“Well, it’s not who I thought I’d be,” he said with a hint of regret, unloading the other two bags that had been hanging from his arm. Dean eyed the blueberry pie and licked his lips. “I was going to have a career. I was going to have a wonderful, long marriage, and two wonderful, successful children, and… well, look how that turned out.” He frowned to himself and bunched up the grocery bags.

Yep, he was definitely sauced. Dean twisted the cap off a beer with the crook of his arm and passed it to his dad, who seemed to snap out of his self-assessing daze and turn a critical eye on his son.

“And look at you,” he said, frown deepening. “Threw away a law degree to work in a second hand book shop.”

Dean thought about how he could reply to that, but he wasn’t in the mood for a fight tonight. John had long ago defeated his drinking problems, so if the man wanted to get wasted to celebrate his new job, so be it. He was never a pleasant drunk, but Dean could let it slide once in a blue moon because he knew it could be so much worse. “To you, Dad,” he finally replied, clinking the neck of his beer to his father’s and tipping it back. He drank nearly half of it in one go and grimaced. He’d rather have had whiskey.

“I’ll be taking messages too,” John continued on about his job, forgetting his failures for a moment. “and helping the mechanics when the shop’s slow, and keeping the salesroom clean.” He dug a knife out of the drawer and cut the pie eight ways with practiced skill. “Which is… you know.” He paused in his thoughts, then went an entirely new direction. “I read a study and, after the age of forty, a man’s chance of finding a woman is diminished by eighty percent. So after fifty,” he distributed the pie onto plates as if it had personally wronged him, “God help you. And since I probably won’t be getting laid again, pie is the only pleasure left to me.”

Poor Sammy choked on the beer he’d swiped, and Castiel thumped him on the back  a few times as he coughed and spluttered. Dean suddenly became far more interested in the stew he was stirring. John didn’t seem to notice anyone’s discomfort, so he gathered up the plates of pie and stepped back into the kitchen.

“Castiel?” John offered one of the plates and Castiel took it with an awkward smile. “Do you have a girlfriend?”

Castiel’s shoulders sagged in mock disappointment. “No, I don’t. Funny, that.” Dean bit his tongue.

“What is wrong with girls these days?” John crossed the kitchen and held out another  piece of pie. “Sam?”

“Thanks dad,” he muttered, unable to make eye contact.

“Dean?”

Dean glanced at the pie, but at this point he was too mortified by his father’s behavior in front of Cas to have an appetite. “No, it’s okay Dad,” he said, voice cracking. He reached up to fiddle with the stove’s heat controls, avoiding his father’s gaze. As soon as John turned around, Dean grabbed his beer again and swallowed the rest of it down.

John settled into eating his pie and the sounds of E.E.G. Flatline filled the silence until he finally looked up and asked, “What is this _God-awful_ music?”

\--

Long hours after one drunken John Winchester was tucked into his bed and asleep, Dean stood in the laundry room with Castiel, who was sitting on the dryer and nursing the glass of wine that he’d be craving all evening. Dean dug through the pockets of his dirty jeans, pulling out a few spare coins.

“He’s going to find out sooner or later,” Castiel said into his wine glass.

“I know, I know,” Dean groaned, balling up his jeans and shoving them into the washing machine. He splashed an unmeasured amount of detergent over them. “Just give me some time.”

Castiel set his now empty glass aside, remaining silent and studying the wall ahead of him. Uncomfortable in the silence, Dean snapped the washer’s lid shut and fit himself between Castiel’s knees, snaking his arms around his thin waist. He imitated Castiel’s brooding expression with a bit of exaggeration, and finally Castiel’s lip quirked up in a reluctant smile. He let out a deep sigh, pulling Dean’s head to his chest and hugging him tight.

**  
  
  
**

\--

**  
  
**

Dean took a deep breath and stepped into the room. “Dad?” Then he stopped short, taking in the sight of his clothes, strung up on a makeshift clothesline and horrendously _pink_.

John faltered. “Dean… Sorry, Son I should have rinsed out the machine after I dyed Sam’s gym shorts red, and I…”

Dean’s eyes slid to his ruined Pink Floyd shirt and he bit his cheek hard. How fucking ironic. But he wasn’t going to get derailed now. He was on a mission. “It’s okay. We’ll just tell everyone we’re from a cult.”  John pinned the last of his ruined socks up and turned back to the bedroom. Dean followed. “Dad?”

“What ever happened to that girl you were dating?”

If anything, John was a Winchester. Dean sighed. “Cassie? She went to Tennessee. To become a trucker.”

“A trucker?” John looked up, confused, and Dean raised his eyebrows. “ _Oh_ , a trucker. I never liked her anyway.”

Well, this was going swimmingly. “ _Dad_ ,” Dean tried again, summoning the patience better suited to his younger brother.

“And you still haven’t explained to me why you left school.”

Dean groaned. “I hated it there!” He took another deep breath, remember that Castiel was waiting for him in the back room. “I might want to try something else,” he admitted. “Like writing-”

“Writing?!” John exclaimed.

“-maybe.”

“Dean, there is _no future_ in the arts! You’re gonna need something to fall back on.”

“Like a desk job?” Dean jabbed, feeling bad as soon as it came out of his mouth. “Sorry.” John had worked a long time as a mechanic in Bobby’s shop, and having to demote himself to a desk job in an auto shop was humiliating. Still, Dean’s comment had shut his dad up for a damn second and he was going to take advantage. “Dad, just because you stopped designing cars or whatever doesn’t mean that I have to be like you. I’m different. In fact, I’m very different-”

“Damn right, you’re different,” John said, exasperated. “Look at you. What are you even wearing?” Dean tugged at Castiel’s shirt, too tight on his more muscled frame. “You’re never gonna get a girlfriend like that. And I’m not thrilled about the holes in your ears either.” John frowned and Dean just blinked at him, mind shorting out. “I know what you need. I brought you something.”

John went around to one of his unpacked boxes and pulled out a metal box adorned with AC/DC and Led Zeppelin stickers. “Your first toolbox. Remember when I got you this and you went down and took your bike apart so you could put it all back together?”

Dean wanted to melt. Most of the tools were lost or broken by now, and what remained was a collection entirely too random to be of much use. But John was smiling at him again, no doubt thinking about the good old days when Dean was his son through and through. “Thanks dad,” he muttered, taking the box. He’d come out to his father sooner or later but today, apparently, was not the day.

At least the sight of Sam dressed in a splotchy pink v-neck with matching boxers made him chuckle. “Is this like a grateful dead thing or what?”

\--

**  
  
**

John’s first day at work went as smooth as silk. He filed all the papers left over from the previous day, set up three appointments for oil changes and one for somebody with a nail in their tire. He ordered a new muffler for an old Ford that was in the shop and even managed to find it at a better price than the shop owner had. With nothing more to do and about an hour left on the clock, he’d sat down and started to sketch out a concept car that he’d imagined years ago. About ten minutes in the door chimed and a familiar face came through.

John grinned and waved.  “Hey, Luke. Car troubles?”

“As a matter of fact, that is the case. Dean mentioned you just started here and I’ve been neglecting to take my car in for a while now.”

“Well I’m glad you brought it by! What seems to be wrong?” John was tempted to tell Luke to swing by the apartment later so he could fix it on his own, but as much as he was itching to bury his hands in grease and car parts, he knew it looked good if he was bringing in customers already.

“It pulls to the right a bit, more so now that it did a month ago, and if I get up to about sixty it starts to shudder like a bad roller coaster.”

“That Honda out there?” John questioned, leaning around the counter to look through the window. Luke nodded. “Sounds like you just need your tires aligned and rotated. Pretty easy job. They should be just about done with Ms. Miller’s car any time now, so if you want to stick around I’m sure they could squeeze you in.” He clicked a few buttons on the computer to fit Luke into the schedule.

“Sounds great. Mind if I keep you company in here while I wait? I see you’re sketching something there.” Luke pointed at the car John had been working on.

“Hang out as long as you like. There’s coffee on the table over there. And yeah, it’s just an idea I had a long time ago.”

“Pretty impressive. Ever thought about designing cars?”

“Pipe dream of my teens. I’m better at fixing them though.” John pushed the drawing under a stack of loose papers. “So what do you do around here?”

Luke stared for a moment, then seemed to remember himself. “I sing. In a… club.”

“Oh? What kind of stuff do you sing? Any classics?”

Luke grinned. “All sorts. You seem like a styx kind of guy, yeah?”

“Saw them in concert in 1992. Dean was twelve and he had a blast.”

**[[x](http://youtu.be/KOQ4pkUAFbA)]**

 

“ _Oh, Momma, I’m in fear for my life from the long arm of the law… Lawman has put an end to my running and I’m so far from my home..._ ” He took a breath. “ _Oh, Momma! I can hear your crying, you’re so scared and all alone… Hangman is coming down from the gallows and I don’t have very long…_ ”

John, who had started tapping his foot to the beat, called out “ _Yeah!_ ” and together they sang, “ _The jig is up, the news is out, they finally found me! The renegade who had it made, retrieved for a bounty!_ ”

They both laughed and then John cleared his throat and sat back in his chair. “That’s a great voice you’ve got there.”

“Thanks.” Luke smiled and went for the coffee. He poured one for John too and returned to the desk, dragging up a chair so he could sit as well.

They stirred their coffee and sipped at it in contented silence for a few minutes before Luke sighed and set down his drink. “Can I ask you for advice?” He’d been putting it off, but he didn’t have a lot of friends his age to ask.

“Sure, what kind of advice?”

“Love advice.”

John raised an eyebrow. “Don’t know if I’m exactly the person for that, but sure. Shoot.”

“I’m very attracted to this… person… but I’m just not getting anywhere.”

“What’s her name?”

Luke’s mind stalled. “Michelle?”

“Pretty name. You know, Luke, you could pussyfoot around it for years, finally get together, and something could happen to take it away. Life’s too short to wait around for stuff like that to happen. You’ve got to lunge at any opportunity that arises, or you’ll never find happiness.”

Luke thought about John’s words and sipped at his coffee. “What if it doesn’t work out?”

John chuckled and shrugged. “Well in my experience, things don’t really work out anyway.”

\--

Scrabble, it turns out, is not a game that anyone should play with Castiel. Especially not if Castiel is quite unhappy that someone didn’t follow through with his plans to come out to John. And most especially of all, Scrabble should not be played with a particularly passive aggressive, unhappy Castiel when John is the third person participating in the game.

It started with Castiel spelling out D-E-S-I-R-E. John played L-O-N-E-L-Y off of that and that’s when Dean knew it was going to be a long and awkward game. He tacked on an O to spell S-O and sat back in his chair. Castiel grinned like a cat and laid out R-U-B-B-E-R-S. Dean tried not to choke. John probably convinced himself they were talking about tires, slapped down two of his letters to spell R-U-G and excused himself to get a beer. Dean played B-O-O-K, Castiel skipped a turn, and John played Z-O-O. Then Castiel backpedaled to the L at the top of the board and spelled out L-U-S-T, only taking his eyes off of Dean to straighten the tiles. John spelled out J-O-G and then the perfect opportunity was staring at Dean. He studied the board for nearly four minutes, desperate to find a way out, but the challenge was on, Castiel was waiting to see what his next move was, and John was probably deeply regretting his choice to play.

So, what the hell. Dean spelled out P-L-U-G and Castiel used the P to spell P-L-E-A-S-E. John’s innocent T-E-A-M was followed by E-X-C-I-T-E from Dean, and on the other side of the board, W-A-N-T-S from Castiel. John, hardly looking at the board at this point, skipped his turn. Dean spelled H-E and Cas threw down the tiles for H-O-R-N-Y and that’s when John abruptly knocked over his beer on accident and the game came to an end.

“How about some cocoa,” John asked, perhaps thinking that an innocent childrens drink might improve the atmosphere.

“We’ve gotta get going, actually,” Dean said, fetching his coat off the rack and sliding in on.

“You’re going out? It’s after ten,” John frowned.

“Yeah, well, in some places, the night’s just starting.”

“Well, have a good time then.”

“Thanks.”

\--

“Roses, roses!” a woman called, weaving through the club’s dance floor with a box of roses and a handful of dollar bills. The music played slow over the speakers, blending perfectly with the soft blue lights.

Dean wasn’t much for slow dancing, but with Castiel’s arms around him and the smell of acrylic paint and shampoo in his nose, he found he didn’t much mind it. They moved back and forth to the song, no real pattern or rhythm between them, until the rose-girl bumped hard into Dean’s side and gave him a disdainful look.

“Oh, sorry,” she said snidely, moving away quickly with her box.

Dean looked up at Cas, who was glaring at the girl’s retreating back. “Did you want a rose?” Dean asked, almost wanting to see the look on her face if he were to buy one for his _boyfriend_.

“Hmm, no.” Castiel tucked his head back into the crook of Dean’s neck and continued their slow, directionless dance. A moment later he pulled his head back abruptly. “Did you want one?”

“Well, actually,” Dean took Castiel’s hand and stepped backward, pulling him along. “I was thinking about something else.” He nodded toward the bathrooms and Castiel followed with interest.

 

The bathroom was small- two urinals, two stalls. The first stall was definitely out of commission, and Dean tried not to gag as he backed up and made for the second one. The second one was much cleaner, but small enough that they didn’t have much room. Not that they needed it for what Dean had in mind.

“You know,” he said, backing Castiel into the graffitied wall, “It’s really hard to have sex when your father’s sleeping in the next room.”

“Oddly enough,” Castiel growled back, biting his lip playfully, “it’s really hard to have sex when you make _so much noise_.”

Dean lunged at the artist’s mouth, locking their lips together and making up for all the time Sam or John had been unknowingly keeping them apart. Lost in their kisses, they didn’t hear the two people that came into the bathroom. Castiel’s tongue pressed at Dean’s urgently, and Dean slipped a hand up Castiel’s tan sweater to trace over his bare ribs. Cas moaned into his mouth and rocked his hips. Someone else came in, checked the empty stall, and made a noise of disgust. They joined the forming line.

As reluctant as he was to stop kissing Cas, Dean finally pulled his lips away and nipped at Castiel’s neck, then ran a tongue across his collarbone before sinking to his knees. Each butterfly kiss to Castiel’s sensitive stomach earned him a breathy gasp, and when Dean used his teeth to unbutton and unzip Castiel’s jeans, the man groaned aloud.

Castiel’s navy blue boxers, under further inspection, were actually Dean’s, and something about that was ridiculously hot. Dean pressed his tongue to the material, teasing Cas with warm and damp. Cas fidgeted and raised his arms, keeping them against the wall above his head so he wouldn’t grab Dean’s hair. The line outside the stall was six people long now, but neither of them knew that. They were in their own world. A world where Dean was sliding the blue navy boxers down Castiel’s thighs and running his tongue slowly up the length of Cas’s cock. Castiel bit back a moan but the next one escaped, loud and leaving nobody wondering what was going on in that stall.

Dean thought he heard laughter echoing off the bathroom wall, and maybe even a catcall, but the only noises he was focused on were the ones coming out of Castiel’s mouth as Dean sucked him down and dug fingers into his trembling thighs. He had no room to talk about making a lot of noise after this, because maybe Dean was really good at blowjobs, but Castiel was moaning like a pornstar. He was getting close, and even though being in a bathroom offered an easy cleanup, Dean didn’t pull back when Castiel choked out, “I’m coming,” and did just that. Dean swallowed once, then let the rest pool in his mouth before pulling off. When Castiel opened his eyes and looked down, Dean stuck out his white-coated tongue before swallowing again. Castiel appeared awestruck, pupils blown and a the corners of his mouth quirked up into a smile.

Dean helped Cas wrestle his pants back up, then stood. “Did I do okay?” he asked.

“Dean Winchester,” he said with a straight face, “you are a _superb_ cocksucker.”

Then they both dissolved into laughter, which only grew worse when they both finally realized that they’d had an audience.

They received a standing ovation when they finally exited the stall. Castiel walked through the gathered crowd with his red face in his hands, but Dean followed him proudly, bowing theatrically to his audience. A young couple at the front of the line was apparently inspired, because the taller man grabbed the hand of his shorter companion and the disappeared into the stall.  
  


\--

“This is great,” Sam said to Gabriel, taking in the flashing lights and pulsing beat of the club. He’d never really been to any place like back home, and he was beginning to understand why Dean had been so excited to get out of Kansas and go to Vancouver. Speaking of his brother, Sam wasn’t sure where Dean and Castiel had gotten to until he heard clapping and cheering come from the bathroom, and saw a very embarrassed looking Castiel being followed out by a satisfied Dean.

“Hey,” Gabriel greeted as they approached. “Look who I found when I came to see if you boys wanted to play.”

“Hey, Dean,” Sam said, shifting Gabriel’s spare motorcycle helmet to his other arm so he could give a weak wave.

“Looks like you’ve been playing already,” Gabriel said, waggling his eyebrows at them.

“Are you accusing us of having sex in the bathroom?” Castiel asked.

“I hear it’s quite fun.” Gabriel turned and headed toward the table they’d acquisition, and Castiel followed to give Dean a moment with his brother.

“Sammy, I-” Dean didn’t know what to say. Not only was Sam way too young for this kind of crowd, but this was Dean’s safe place. This was the only place in the world he could get up on the stage in a white sparkly angel outfit and strut around like he owned the place. This was the Cat’s Ass, the club where Dean could be Dean without having to worry about anyone or anything. And Sam was here.

“Gabe gave me a ride,” Sam said awkwardly. “On his motorcycle.” He held up the helmet for emphasis. When Dean didn’t say anything, he excused himself by nodding vaguely in Gabriel’s direction and taking off.

Dean was still trying to remember how to speak when Luke came up, dressed in a snazzy white suit with a rose tucked in the pocket. “Dean, Dean, I bought a car from your father today! He’s really a great guy. And I finally sent that invitation to my parents! I never thought I’d see the day.” Dean opened his mouth to congratulate Luke, but he wasn’t afforded the opportunity. “I can’t talk right now, I am on in like five seconds.” He took off for the stage and Dean felt a bit like he’d just been knocked for two loops. He floated over to the table in a daze.

Castiel pressed something strongly alcoholic into his hands when he sat down and he took a long drink of it before looking over to where Gabriel and Sam where dancing to an upbeat song. “I can’t believe Gabriel brought Sammy here. He’s only seventeen! He’s not even consenting age.”

Michael, who was seated across from Dean raised an eyebrow. “He looks pretty consenting to me.”

Dean looked over reluctantly to see Sam and Gabriel locked hips to ass. He finished his drink in one painful gulp.

“Hey everybody, if you’d please take your seats,” the loudspeaker announced. “Our very own, Luke Pellegrino!”

Michael looked particularly attentive for someone who wasn’t interested.

The lights dimmed out almost completely, only a few cast onto the stage. Luke’s silhouette was center stage, stock still in the silence. Then, with a guitar chord and crash cymbal combination, the lights flashed on to reveal him in all his white suited glory, grinning like a cat. He took one measured step forward for each crash of the cymbal, then stopped at the end of the stage.

**[[x](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=R7pBsovkOKQ&feature=youtu.be&t=29s) - Mark Pellegrino singing!]**

 

“ _Well I’m upper upper class high society,_ ” He purred into the microphone, “ _God’s gift to ballroom notoriety. And I always fill my ballroom; The event is never small, the social pages say I’ve got the biggest balls of them all…_ ”

Luke hopped down from the stage. “ _Well I’ve got big balls! I‘ve got big balls, they’re such big balls, and they’re dirty big balls. And he’s got big balls  And she’s got big balls, but I’ve got the biggest balls of them all!_ ”

He made his way over to Michael and sat in his lap. “ _My balls are always bouncing, my ballroom always full, and everybody comes and comes again…_ ” Michael was as white as a sheet, but Luke sang on, catcalls encouraging in the background. “ _If your name is on the guest list, no one can take you higher, everybody says I’ve got… great balls of fire!_ ”

He lifted off Michael’s lap then, dancing back toward the stage. “ _I’ve got big balls, oh I’ve got big balls, and they’re such big balls, dirty big balls._ ” He pointed at Dean, “ _and he’s got big balls,_ ” The pointed to woman a few chairs over, “ _and she’s got big balls, but I’ve got the biggest balls of them all!_ ”

He skirted around the stage and then back up onto it, lyrics interspersed with obscene gestures and nearly pornographic dancing. Michael seemed enraptured by it, suddenly, and Dean found it terribly amusing. “ _Some balls are held for charity, and some for fancy dress, but when they’re held for pleasure, they’re the balls I like the best. My balls are always bouncing, to the right and to the left, it’s my belief that my big balls should be held every night_.”

“Sing it!” He held the microphone out to the crowded club and several people joined in. “ _We’ve got big balls! We’ve got big balls! We’ve got big balls! Dirty big balls! He’s got big balls! She’s got big balls! But we’ve got the biggest balls of them all!_ ”

“ _and I’m just itching to tell you about them,_ ” Luke sang over the chanting. “ _Oh we’ve had such wonderful fun! Seafood cocktail. Crabs. Crayfish._ ”

Even Michael was standing now, chanting with the crowd. “ _Ball sucker, ball sucker, ball sucker, ball sucker!_ ”

“Luke Pell-a-grino!” The club’s announcer said again as the song ended.

Luke raised his hands and took deep bow.

\--

“Family life is starting to get really weird,” Sam admitted to Gabriel. Sam never expected Dean to remain the faux-macho model of John that he always pretended he was, but he didn’t expect to come to Vancouver to find him working at a sex shop and shacking up with another guy. Not to mention the angel costume shoved under the couch could only mean that Dean danced here at the Cat’s Ass on occasion. Sam certainly didn’t have a problem with it, but it was all very new and unexpected.

“Yeah, I bet they didn’t teach you this in sex ed,” Gabriel responded, watching a pair of women who obviously had their hands up each other’s skirts. They weren’t the only couple doing questionable things on the dance floor. “Well, consider me Dr. Gabriel at your service.”

“What’s with all those dildo things?” Sam blurted without much thought. The beers Gabriel had been buying for him were making his tongue looser than usual.

“Oh, they used to be a political no-no, but now it’s just a radical sex thing. Of course, I’ve always done exactly what I wanted to do. Lonely gays have to improvise, you know? Your palm can get mighty boring, mighty fast. But a fleshlight… those are nice.”

Sam thought he’d be a lot more red in the face if he wasn’t on his fourth beer of the night, but rather than being embarrassed by Gabriel’s utter lack of shame, he just found it amusing. Perhaps even endearing.

“Boys have all kinds of toys, too.” Gabriel fished something lime green out of his pocket and held it up with a grin. It glowed in the dark.

“That’s for boys?” Sam asked, eyeing it skeptically.

“Mm-hmmm.”

“What is it?”

“A butt plug.” Sam made a face and Gabriel laughed. “It’s okay, I bleach it.”

\--

“Michael, I’m in love with you and I’m lunging until I get you.”

“This isn’t a good place- time- to lunge. I’m under a lot of pressure with this customs thing.”

“I know. I’m lunging anyway.”

“Luke… I have never been what you would call...sexually adventurous.”

“You don’t have to be! I’ll take that on.”

“I mean, I’ve never had a threesome. I’ve barely had twosomes. I’ve had three boyfriends, all of whom were exactly like me.”

“I’m exactly like you. I know your favorite writer is Gertrude Stein, and I love Gertrude Stein. And not just the readable Stein. I was an English Major- my thesis was on Stein’s “The Geographical History of America.” Luke paused, waiting for Michael to meet his eyes. “I think if you announce what you see…”

“Then nobody can say no,” Michael finished for him. “Wow.”

They watched each other for a moment, then Luke flicked his lighter to life and raised it to the unlit cigarette Michael had been holding for the entire conversation. “Do you like to-”

“I’d love to.”

“I just have to...”

“...Go to the bathroom.” Luke stepped out of his way. “After you.”

\--

Outside, Sam fit the motorcycle helmet down over his shaggy hair. “Hop on,” Gabriel instructed with a wink, and Sam slid onto the back of the bike and wrapped his arms around Gabriel’s smaller frame. He started the bike up and it purred in a way that Dean would surely appreciate.

A pickup truck swerved through the parking lot and someone inside through a bottle that shattered against the building. “Fucking faggots!” the driver yelled before veering to the right and back onto the road.

“Asshole!” Gabriel called back, kicking the brake up. He revved his bike once and then they were off, into the neon-lit Vancouver night.

\--

Luke took a deep breath, studying himself in the mirror and straightening his tie. After so long, Michael was finally giving him a chance and there was no way he was going to blow this. The rose in his pocket was still healthy looking and bright, so he adjusted it and nodded to his reflection.

Behind him, a man cleared his throat. Luke tensed a bit, but ignored the noise and leaned forward to fix the front of his hair. The man stepped closer and cleared his throat again. In the mirror, Luke could see him standing a few steps back with his arms crossed.

Luke frowned. “Excuse me?”

“Aren’t you in the wrong place? _Ma’am_?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Shouldn’t you be in the _ladies_ room? I mean you are a _woman_.”

Luke kept his eyes on his reflection before him. This was his night and it was not about to be ruined by some transphobic asshole. “No, I’m not.”

The man leaned forward and growled, “Get out.”

Well, if that was how it was going to be… Luke turned around, shoulders squared and head high. “Make me.”

There was half of a warm beer clutched in the man’s hand, and he splashed the liquid in Luke’s face, drenching his hair and discoloring his crisp white suit. If Luke were bigger and made of more muscle, he might have punched the man in the face for his offence, but Luke was stuck in the wrong body and it wasn’t one made for fighting. So he didn’t lunge or punch or kick. He just held his shoulders square and head high.

“Are you happy now?”

\--

Dean’s mind was fuzzy and his body was growing tired. He leaned against Castiel with his eyes closed and they swayed to a song that was neither fast or slow. He could have remained there forever, but a crinkling noise caught his attention and he peeled his eyes open to see Castiel holding out one plastic-wrapped red rose.

“Let’s go home,” Castiel said into his ear before moving in for a long and lazy kiss.

“Sounds great,” Dean said tiredly when they parted. “Gotta piss though.”

\--

“Get out, you fucking freak!” Dean heard as he pushed the bathroom door open. In an instant he was on high alert, eyes moving from attacker to victim and putting the puzzle together.

Castiel was right behind him, screaming, “Stop it!” and diving in front of Luke to protect him from the next blow. The man didn’t get a chance to deliver it, though, because Dean’s fist connected with the side of his head so hard he bounced off the bathroom stall.

“Are you okay?” Castiel asked, fingers flitting from the blood on Luke’s lip to his swelling eye. Behind him, Dean wrestled the man off the floor, putting him in half of a chokehold and twisting his right arm up behind him.

“She’s not a man!” He still insisted, spitting in Luke’s direction. “She should be in the woman’s bathroom!”

Castiel turned, trenchcoat flaring out behind him. “He is a man, and he’s our friend. Now you _fucking_ apologize to him or my _boyfriend_ will break your god damned arm.” Dean didn’t know Castiel’s voice could get that low, and he certainly didn’t know his soft blue eyes could hold so much fury. If Castiel said the word, he’d break the man’s arm in a heartbeat. He twisted it a little harder to convey that point. “Say you’re sorry.”

“He doesn’t have to,” Luke said weakly from behind Castiel.

Cas ignored him. “ _Say it._ ”

“Sorry…” the man finally muttered, straining against the force of Dean’s hold.

Luke watched him for a moment, then pulled himself up a bit straighter and spit out a mouthful of blood. “Sorry, _sir_ ,” he instructed.

When the man hesitated, Dean twisted harder. “Sorry, sir!” He yelped.

After a moment, Luke nodded. “Thank you.”

Dean held the man fast while Castiel gently guided Luke out of the bathroom. When the door finally closed behind them, Dean released the man and shoved him hard into the side of the bathroom stall. “Damn right, you’re sorry.”

He left to find his friends.

\--

John had long ago kicked alcoholism, but after a stressful week that ended with a successfully acquired job, Sammy on his way back to school, and a safe roof over their heads, he thought he deserved to take a night or two to himself. So with Dean and Sam out doing their thing and the place to himself, John treated himself to a long shower and a glass or three of whiskey. He trailed around the apartment in a bathrobe tinkering with this and that, fixing the leaky faucet in the bathroom and adjusting the living room lamp until it no longer flickered. The little tasks were relaxing, and it was nice to see everything coming along so well.

He took a break to have the last piece of pie that the boys had known better than to eat, then poured himself one more glass of whiskey and took a screwdriver to the alarm clock in the bedroom that beeped at odd intervals but didn’t actually go off when set. He was comfortably warm from the alcohol and his robe, and his vision was just on the edge of blurry, so when the screwdriver slipped and clattered to the floor, he just chuckled at himself and knelt by the end of the bed to retrieve it.

It was dusty beneath the bed and he had to grope around for the tool because he couldn’t see it, but when he finally got ahold of something, it wasn’t quite the right shape. He pulled the object out and started at it, raising one eyebrow and turning it over. There was a small on switch and when he pressed it curiously, the object began to vibrate quite violently.

His first reaction was, of course, to shout in surprise and throw the offending object. Then he came to his senses, grabbed the thing and turned it off again. After a moment or two of utter disbelief, he started to laugh.

It was only the first of a large collection of strangely colored and shaped toys haphazardly hidden in a basket under the bed. Some were clearly dildos of varying sizes, but some he couldn’t possibly guess the intended use. One was reversed, like a hollowed out cucumber with a gelled inside. Damn his age, John nearly blushed at that.

The last one got the better of his curious side. The boys were out, the night was young, and he had little better to do.

**  
  
**

\--

Sam pressed closer to Gabriel’s warm body as they cruised down the streets of Vancouver. Occasionally Gabriel would slow his bike and point out some landmark or shop that he loved. He drove past an empty coffee shop and told Sam that one day he was going to buy it and turn it into his very own cafe with dick shaped lollipops and other edible obscenities. They drove back in the direction of Sam’s new home after a while, but before they got too close Gabriel took a sharp left and they wove between massive abandoned warehouses overlooking the harbour. He came to a secluded place, nestled between two old buildings and right on the edge of the water, where there was an old backseat of a car draped with blankets and covered by nothing but the stars. He circled it slowly, then brought the bike to a stop and turned off the motor.

“Wow,” Sam breathed, shaking out his helmet hair and admiring the view. There were dozens of brightly lit buildings in the distance. “This is a great place.”

“And it’s very private,” Gabriel said, slipping out of his jacket and tossing it onto the leather seat. He moved toward Sam slowly, watching for any sign that he wasn’t on board.

Sam didn’t move away, though. He only asked, after Gabriel wrapped his arms around Sam’s middle, “Do you really like boys?”

Gabriel laughed at that. “Oh Sammy. Soft centers, hard centers… I like all the chocolates in the box.” Then he went up on his toes and kissed Sam, who blessedly bent down to compensate the height difference. There was little question about whether or not Sam liked boys, because the way he melted into Gabriel’s arms said it all.

Gabriel’s bike ticked as it cooled and sirens wailed in the background, but both went unnoticed by the couple. Then, in one fluid motion, Sam reached down, grabbed Gabriel’s butt, and lifted him off the ground entirely.

“Cheeky bastard,” Gabriel complained, wrapping his legs around Sam’s middle. Sam grinned and nipped at Gabe’s bottom lip, then turned and walked them toward the makeshift couch. They laughed together as Sam swayed, almost lost his balance, and regained it. Then Sam laid Gabriel back on the seat so gently it nearly made Gabriel blush. “First time with a guy?” Gabriel guessed. “You don’t have to be so gentle. I won’t break.”

“I have a feeling Dean would kill me if he knew I was here,” Sam mused, mouthing at Gabriel’s jawline and enjoying the chilled air that tickled his skin where his shirt rode up.

Gabriel arched his neck to give Sam better access. “Dean may think I’m eccentric and obnoxious, but he trusts me. He knows I wouldn’t hurt you.”

Sam hummed contentedly and allowed Gabriel to flip them over. The old carseat reminded him of the Impala and he chuckled at the thought.

“So, do you want me to show you a good time?” Gabriel asked, waggling his eyebrows.

“You mean with that thing you showed me earlier?”

Gabriel grinned. “That can come later. Tonight I have other things in mind, and trust me when I say I don’t need toys to make you moan.” He slid his cold hands up Sam’s sides and Sam shivered, his eyes sliding shut.

“Sounds great.”

\--

“Come on in,” Michael said awkwardly, holding the door for Luke.

“Thank you.”

“I’ll take your coat.” It was an awkward dance of attempted normalcy, but with Luke’s battered face and Michael’s nerves running on high, there wasn’t much chance at success. “Would you like some tea?” He tried anyway, unsure of how to proceed. “I have Mint Dreams, Cranberry Mist, Lemon Zip… and decaf organic Earl Grey.”

“Yes please,” Luke agreed weakly. Michael disappeared into the kitchen. In all the times Luke had imagined himself finally getting with Michael, he never thought it would be like this. Cowering in his living room, bruised and reeking of beer, waiting for tea that they would sip awkwardly while trying to make small talk. No. He wanted to sweep Michael off his feet. Lunge.

Luke rounded the corner to the kitchen and found Michael sorting through a tea box. “Earl Grey,” he requested, and Michael turned, wide eyed and lips parted as if he were about to speak. Luke leaned in and kissed him, quick and gentle, then pulled back and studied his reaction.

Surprise. Confusion. Contemplation. Then determination, and Michael was pressing Luke against the fridge and kissing him hard. It hurt a bit, as his lip was still sore from being punched, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. Michael seemed to notice, though. He pulled back abruptly, looking startled and uncomfortable. “I don’t know where that-” he stepped back, taking in Luke’s bruised complexion. All at once he seemed to remember that Luke wasn’t just some guy. He was some guy that still had women’s parts and angry parents and a life of surgery and testosterone ahead of him. Baggage, essentially. “I-I think I need a little more time,” Michael choked out.

“Oh,” Luke said, nodding slowly. “Oh-okay.” He took a step toward the kitchen door. “Okay.”

“I’ll get your coat.” Michael ducked his head and hurried past him.

At the door, they both grasped for words but didn’t know what to say. “I had a really good time tonight,” Michael attempted, feeling stupid before the words were even out of his mouth.

“Dont worry about it.” Luke attempted a smile. “Call me.”

Michael nodded.

“Goodnight.” Luke let himself out, holding a smile until the door closed. His shoulders sagged and his head drooped. He threw his soggy yellow-white coat over his shoulder and headed for home.

“Goodnight,” Michael said softly to the closed door. He took his tea to his bedroom and drank it alone.

\--

Dean snuggled back into the curve of Castiel’s body and tried to ignore the sun filtering in through the windows. He tugged the blanket back over his shoulder and yawned. Cas slipped an arm around his middle and sighed, then kissed a gentle pattern across the back of Dean’s neck. They could hear Sammy making a racket in the kitchen, stirring a mug of coffee and carelessly throwing the spoon into the sink.

Footsteps traveled from the kitchen in their direction and John called out, “Morning boys, I made coffee,” before pushing past the curtain.

In a flurry of blankets, pillows, and an elbow to a jaw, Dean and Castiel righted themselves and sprang from the couch, grabbing whatever clothing was closest. Dean thanked God he’d had the good sense to tug on his boxers after last night’s round of lazy sex, but even as he pulled on his pants as fast as he could, he knew his father was taking in the bite marks that littered his stomach and the hickeys on Castiel’s chest. The back of his neck burned with shame.

“Oh,” John sputtered, watching with wide eyes as Dean wrestled on a shirt that, judging by the obscure band and paint splotches, belonged to Castiel. Castiel was red faced, staring out the window and trying to inconspicuously button his pants. “I-uh,” John finally averted his eyes, glancing down at the coffee in his hands. “I made coffee.” He set it on the small coffee table, next to a slightly wilted rose.

Even when Dean and Castiel were dressed and holding their mugs of coffee, John still remained in the doorway. “So, I wanted to ask you,” he said to Dean, “how should I put this… about this, uh, about the box I found underneath your bed last night.”

“The box,” Dean repeated back at his father, wracking his brain for any idea what John was talking about. Then he remembered. “Oh. The box.”

“I should go,” Castiel said quietly from beside Dean, rising and reaching for his coat.

“No,” John said quickly. “You should stay.”

Castiel sat back down.

“Alright. The box.” John turned on Dean.

“Dad, about that box-”

“Because I was surprised that a boy all your age would need all those… implements, but-”

“Dad,” Dean groaned. “They’re not mine.”

John opened his mouth, then closed it again. He blinked. “What?”

“They belong to the woman I’m subletting from. She does safe sex demonstrations.”

“Oh.”

Dean hoped that would be the end of the conversation, but John still lingered. Castiel was picking at the label on the side of his coffee mug, looking a lot like a trapped animal.

“So, Dean.” John looked between Dean and Castiel. “You, ah, want to tell me what’s going on here?”

“What?” Dean didn’t think playing dumb was going to get him anywhere, but he didn’t know what else to say.

“Well, there’s something going on here. I mean, are you- um.” John didn’t seem to be able to get the word gay out of his mouth, so he settled on, “Do you actually think you’re in love or something?”

Dean felt his throat clog up with something like mortification. He stared forward blankley, all too aware of both pairs of eyes that watched and waited for his answer. If he said he wasn’t, if he denied the way Castiel made him feel, Cas would leave. He knew it. But he couldn’t stand to sum up everything he felt into the word ‘yes’ and let his father pick it apart, shame it, and deny it. What Dean had with Castiel deserved far better than an awkward admission pressured out of him by his father. It deserved poems and songs and paintings brushed onto a canvas will full attention to detail. It deserved to be spoken to people that would understand and celebrated it, not break it down into something insignificant like a dumb teenage phase.

Castiel took his silence for denial. He left his coffee behind, grabbing his coat and making for the door. Away from Dean.

This wasn’t John’s to take away from him. He stood suddenly, the block in his throat making way for all the angry things he’d kept pent up since his teenage years in Kansas. “Dad,” he snapped, feeling young and afraid and angry all at once, “I am tired of you always running my life and criticizing me.”

“I don’t-”

“Criticizing the way I look, the way I dress,”

“Let me tell you something, son,” John growled, straightening his shoulders and becoming more of the stern man that Dean remembered. “I would love to run your life. Somebody besides you ought to!”

“Oh, so you’re admitting it?” Dean shouted, fists balling at his sides.

“Well, I’d sure as hell do a better job!”

“Oh right, because you’re running your own life so fucking well?”

“You think because you’re young that everything’s gonna work out. Well that’s not true- you fuck up now and you’re going to-”

“Me, fuck up?!”

“-fuck up your entire life”

“Me, fuck up?  Look at yourself!” Dean screamed. Then he took off running, past his shell-shocked father and Sam who had come out to see what the fuss was. He slammed past the door and nearly tripped over the steps as he ran down to reach Castiel.

Cas was pulling his suitcase behind him, losing items that he’d thrown on top in his hurry to escape. Dean grabbed for a cassette that had fallen and Castiel spat, “Leave it!”

“Let me help,” Dean pleaded, following Cas down the remaining steps. He reached out and tried to grab his shoulder, but Castiel flinched away. “I’m sorry!”

“He asked you,” Cas yelled. “He asked you if we were in love!”

“My father doesn’t need to know everything in my life!” Dean argued, knowing it was stupid. How was he supposed to explain that he’d choked up? That what he’d found was far too precious to be crammed into three overused words?

“Well then fuck you,” Castiel spat, making for the road.

Dean froze and watched him go, then his eyes started to burn and he took off running. Away. Away from everything.

\--

“I’m just going to go get Sam,” John muttered to himself as he shoved his things roughly into his suitcase. Half unpacked boxes littered the room and he threw items into them rather than taking them out. “It’s not like I didn’t try to help,” he grumbled. He took a long drink of the beer he’d found in the back of the fridge and zipped his suitcase shut. “I’m not going to stay we’re I’m not wanted.”

\--

Castiel walked into a pawn shop with his suitcase in tow, and left a few minutes later with the clothes on his back and just barely enough cash to get his van out of impound.

An hour later he was sitting in his van, battered map in hand. There were endless possibilities in front of him, but that didn’t excite him like it usually did. Instead, the idea of leaving Vancouver was almost sickening.

Impulsively, he found the first payphone he could and called Luke.

\--

“What do you think of this?” Crowley asked as he wheeled his brand new oven into the cafe on a dolly.

“Beautiful, Crowley,” Luke commented, mustering up a smile.

“Ah, it’s a piece of rubbish, but it’s better than the old one.” He wheeled it toward the back. “Behind you, love,” he said to Castiel, who was retrieving his coffee from one of the pained look baristas.

Castiel dropped the last of his spare change in the tip jar and went to sit with Luke.

“So why didn’t he just tell John?” Luke asked, resuming their conversation where they’d left off.

Castiel thought for a moment, then shrugged. “It doesn’t matter.”

“Listen to me. Cas. If you leave now, you will be making a huge mistake. I mean, you two have it made! You love each other, it’s as clear as day, and,” he frowned and glanced away, “love is not that easy to come by.”

Castiel studied Luke for a moment. “What about you and Michael?” As he expected, Luke sighed and his usually cheerful face was drawn and tired. “Are you okay?”

“No, not really.” Luke gave a false smile and cast his eyes down.

“I’m sorry.”

“Yeah,” Luke shrugged.

“He’s the one making a huge mistake,” Castiel said, echoing Luke’s earlier statement. “You’re incredible.” And he was incredible. He’d been sitting here listening to Castiel’s problems all afternoon without the slightest complaint about his own. Castiel was going to miss these friends he’d made.

\--

John crammed his suitcase into the Impala, muttering more loudly to himself now that he’d had a few beers. He was all set to leave then, but one last guilty look at the bottle in his hand reminded him that he had no business drinking and driving. He tossed the bottle in the recycle and decided to take a walk.

\--

The road stretched wide open before Castiel and his van. Cars flew by, heading into Vancouver, but Castiel kept driving away.

\--

“San Francisco?” Dean said, biting his lip and shaking his head. When he’d finally cleared his head enough to realize what he was letting go, Dean had ran all the way to the cafe in hopes that Cas would have stuck around. Instead he’d found Luke, sitting on a bench outside and sipping at the last of his cold coffee.

“That’s what he said,” Luke sighed, rubbing Dean’s back. “Oh kiddo, why didn’t you just tell your dad?”

Dean choked up again, but he swallowed past it. “It’s none of his business. I thought Cas knew. Thought that was enough.” He felt Luke tense and glanced up to see Michael crossing the street. “I gotta get to work,” Dean sighed, biting the inside of his cheek hard. The idea of continuing on with his day like Castiel had never happened made his heart ache in a way he didn’t know was possible.

“Hey, no,” Luke said, pulling Dean back onto the bench. “You stay right here and get yourself together. Take all the time you need.”

“Thanks,” Dean said, and then he made the mistake of looking up into Luke’s concerned filled eyes and he felt his face burning again. He buried his head in his hands and tried not to cry.

\--

About an hour out of Vancouver, Castiel leaned against a payphone and dialed the number for Ten Percent Books that Luke had scrawled across his hand in blue pen.

\--

“It’s about time,” Michael said when Dean and Luke finally came inside. There was water everywhere, dripping down from Dean’s day-old display and soaking into the carpet. “I need you to clean up this mess.”

The phone started ringing and Michael went to his desk and grabbed it from the receiver. “Hello,” he said flatly. There was a moment of silence, then a sigh on the other end and the phone disconnected. “Asshole,” Michael spat, shoving the phone back on its stand.

The door chimed and Adam Milligan walked in.

“Hi Michael,” he said awkwardly. “I’m, uh, sorry about the other day.”

“Yeah?” Dean watched the exchange and wondered what had Michael in such a foul mood.

“Look, I came to tell you I found this.” Adam held up a slip of paper. “The Film Classification Board is coming here. They’re going to impound your videos.” He handed the paper over to Michael. “I stole this for you.”

“Shit!”  

“They’re coming here tonight.

“Tonight?” Michael’s eyes scanned up and down the paper.

“They love coming at night because of the overtime. They’ll be here just before closing.”

“Yeah, well,” Michael inhaled deeply and stuck out his hand. “Thanks, Adam.”

Adam shook his hand and nodded. “Good luck.” The bell chimed again as he left.

Dean dropped the rag he’d been using to mop up the water and came over to Michael’s desk. He picked up the paper and read, “Officers are to search the premises and seize any videos which could be classified as obscene materials?!” He looked up at Michael with wide eyes, but Michael’s expression was entirely neutral.

“I give up,” he said as he rolled himself a cigarette. “You know, maybe they’re right. Yeah, it’s obscene.” Then he threw his hands up and screamed, “That’s the POINT!”

“We can hide the videos,” Dean suggested.

Michael sighed. “They’ll just come back for them.”

Dean looked at Michael’s defeated face and something in him snapped. Sitting back and doing nothing had lost him Castiel. He wasn’t about to sit back again and watch Michael’s pride and joy, and his job, ripped apart by people who didn’t understand their lifestyle. “Call your lawyer, call the newspapers!,” Dean said, grabbing the ice pick he’d borrowed from Crowley’s. “They want obscene? They’ve got it!”

\--

Luke stood on a ladder, painting the trim in his new bedroom as John paced beneath him. “Dean’s always been such a good kid,” John complained. “Always did what I told him. But suddenly he’s all rebellious and _I’m_ the bad guy!”

John’s walk had given him time to think clearly, and he’d realized that he didn’t have anything to go back to in Kansas. He already had a job in Vancouver and now Sam was in school, so whether it was with Dean or not, he needed to find a place to live here. His walk had lead him to Luke’s house, and Luke had invited him in. “Don’t worry, John. You and Sam can stay here as long as you’d like.”

“Oh, and then Sam calls last night to say he’s not coming home, which is so unlike him… I don’t know what’s gotten into the two of them.”

Luke sighed. Then the doorbell rang. “I’ll get that,” John said. Luke was wearing an obnoxious flower-print smock and had blue paint in his hair.

John opened the door to a delivery boy with a package in hand. “Hi, uh, special delivery for Ms. Lucinda Pellegrino? She needs to sign.”

“Lucinda?” John said, furrowing his brow. “I think you have the wrong address.”

“No, ah,” Luke stepped up to the door and wrung his hands. “I’m, um. I’m Lucinda Pellegrino.” He grabbed the pen quickly and signed it, trying to ignore the look of confusion and disgust on the delivery boy’s face. He traded the pen for the package. “Thank you. Have a nice day.” The boy retreated silently, looking over his shoulder a few times.

Without shutting the door, Luke turned to face John. “You’re,” John said, looking a bit green and very confused. “You’re Lucinda?”

“Why don’t you come inside,” Luke said. John nodded slowly and stepped back out of the doorway, allowing Luke to shut the door. After gathering his courage, Luke turned back to him and admitted, “I’m Lucinda.”

“You’re a _woman_?” John said, exasperated. This was a day full of surprises.

“No, no, no,” Luke said quickly, following John, who was making his way toward the kitchen. “Not really. Not ever.” John stopped and considered him. “I was born into a woman’s body, but I’ve always been a man,” Luke explained. “And well, after the final surgery…”

They stared at each other silently for a minute, then John eyed the kitchen. “I think I need a drink.”

Luke nodded. “Help yourself.”

John poured a healthy dose of whiskey into a glass and swallowed it down. Luke left the room to give him some privacy. The letter was from his parents, and Luke had been waiting for far too long to put off reading it any more.

He tore at the envelope and pulled out the letter. “‘Dear Lucinda,’” he read, frowning at the use of his birth name. “‘Thank you for your invitation,’” he smiled, “‘but your mother and I won’t be able to visit you.’” At this, he frowned, but read on. “‘We’re sorry, but in the future I think it’s… best…’”

Luke heard John enter the room and set down the bottle of whiskey. He bit his lip and lowered the letter, focusing on the wall in front of him.

John remained silent for a minute, looking from Luke to the letter clutched tightly in his hand. Finally he stepped up and asked, “What is it?”

“My-ah,” Luke tried to quiet his trembling hands, “father says his lawyer will be in touch about the sale.”

“So they’re not going to come?” Luke shook his head minutely. His lip was trembling and he hated it, because it made him feel like the girl he knew he wasn’t. “But they bought you this place…”

“Apparently this place is a… a get lost contract.” He felt tears threatening to escape, so he busied himself with ripping up the letter into as many tiny pieces as he could.  Girls cried when they were angry. Boys broke shit.

John silently handed him a glass of whiskey, so he knocked the entire thing back in one painful gulp and chucked the glass at the far wall. The sound of it shattering was oddly satisfying.

John looked from the shattered glass to Luke, who was now pacing back and forth across the room, and his shoulders sagged. “I’m too old for this,” he said.

Luke turned on him. “You are not too old. You are pissed off.” Suddenly he looked a lot less deflated and a lot more angry. “See, rage gets trapped in the body. and it can make you feel old. And tired. And that’s why you have to let it out. Like this.” He picked up the paint bucket beside him and, shrieking like a wild animal, hurled the paint at the clean white wall. It splattered everywhere, coating the wall and Luke and even landing on John’s shirt. Luke turned around, looking incredibly satisfied. “See?”

\--

“Come on John, give it a shot!”

John held the bucket of paint awkwardly, eyeing the wall in front of him. He felt ridiculous, but he was fairly drunk and Luke was cheering him on and it had been a hell of a day, so he let out his best war-cry and threw the paint all over the wall. It was liberating in the strangest of ways, and suddenly he felt a lot less old and broken. He dropped the empty bucket and dodged out of the way as Luke came at the wall with a bucket of yellow. They both cheered wildly and grabbed for more paint.

\--

“Bloody hell, Michael, what is he going to do? Stay like this all night?” Crowley gestured wildly at the window.

In place of the conceptual ice sculpture from the day before, Dean stood tall in the window with books piled to his knees. His hands were tied loosely to the floor-to-ceiling pole in the window, and he was entirely naked. On a piece of black cardboard that hung from his hips like a censor-bar, he’d written “OBSCENE HOMOSEXUAL” in white paint.

“I’m going to call the press,” Michael breathed, staring at Dean in awe.

“I’m going to call my lawyer,” Crowley grumbled. He left swiftly to close up his store for the night.

“I’ve got to get changed,” Michael muttered to himself. He grabbed the store key from his pocket and locked the door, then tapped on the window and gestured to Dean. “I’ll be right back, okay? Just stay right where you are.”

Dean must have understood him, because he nodded slightly before raising his head high and again and staring into the distance.

\--

“We are good men,” John babbled drunkenly, knocking over his glass in attempt to grab it. He and Luke were sitting on the floor, covered in paint. “And we deserve to be recognized for our attempts…” He burped.

“Come on,” Luke said, clutching John’s arm. “I want Michael to hear this.”

“We can’t go out like this…”

Luke nodded and then, in a mocking feminine voice, yelled, “Makeover!”

\--

Dean stood numbly in the window. His skin was covered in goosebumps, partly from the cold of the bookstore and partly from being so entirely on display. The piece of cardboard was the only thing protecting him from the eyes of everyone who passed by, but that was the point. It was art. It was also terrifying and exhilarating all at once. He wished his father could see him, the obscene homosexual who wasn’t going to apologize for being who he was. He wished Sam could see him, and be proud of his brother who was standing up for what he knew was right. He wished Castiel could see him, not running away from his feelings, but announcing them loud and proud to the world. He hoped nobody would see him, baring his soul in a bookshop window.

\--

Michael showered quickly, talking to himself in his excitement. “I’ll just call the television stations. No, the newspapers.” His phone rang in the apartment, but he couldn’t hear it over the water. “And my neighbors,” he added, rinsing his hair quickly.

“Hi, it’s Michael. Talk now,” his answering machine said to the empty living room.

“Hello Michael, it’s Castiel. I can’t find Dean. Or John. Where is everyone? If you get this message, can you just tell Dean that I called? ...Thanks.”

\--

“Hey-ya, faggot!”

Dean didn’t turn his head, but he could see four men approaching the bookstore window from the side. He could hear their catcalls. One of them banged on the window hard and peered in from the side. “Ain’t that the queer angel kid from the other night?”

“Whatcha doin up on display, slut? Strippin in a gay bar ain’t good enough anymore?”

Dean focused hard on the glass window before him, ignoring them with all of his effort. He thought of Castiel and the smell of paint.

“Forget it, fuck, we’re late!”

\--

John and Luke weaved down the street, laughing as they recounted their old childhood dreams to each other. “I wanted to go from Shannon to Dublin, to London, to Botswana,” John tripped and nearly hit the ground, but Luke hauled him back up. “Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea,” he said, stabilizing his friend.

“No,” John insisted, “We must go find this Michelle!”

\--

“Come on you fucking fairy, come out and play!” The four guys were getting rowdier, slamming their fists on the glass and jumping at the window. “You like dick so much, I got eight inches you can suck!”

Across the street, John and Luke stopped and stared at the commotion. “Oh my god, that looks like Dean,” John breathed.

Luke squeaked, “it is.”

John dropped the arm he had slung around Luke’s shoulder and sprinted across the street. “Get away from my son you fucking scumbags!” he hollered, catching them off guard. There were four of them and one of him, though, and they were all young and athletic.

Dean watched in horror from the window as Luke threw himself in front of John. “Get lost, guys,” he begged, not wanting to fight. In spirit he could take them all, but his body was still too small and too female.

But they were all riled up now, high on excitement. “Come on guys, get lost!” one of them mimicked in a parody of Luke’s voice, then he swung a fist and hit Luke across the face. And maybe it was luck, or maybe it was all the pent up frustration at the failings of his body, but when Luke turned around and swung back, the blow put the man on the ground. His hand felt like he’d smashed it against concrete, and he stared in disbelief as the man he’d hit stumbled to his feet and backed off.

“Faggot!” they spat, retreating, and Luke fake-curtsied and thanked them.

John was banging on the window now, calling to his son and pointing at the door. “Open the door, Dean! What are you doing? You’re naked for christ sake!” He ran to the door and tried the handle, but it was locked. “Open the goddamn door, Dean!”

When Dean didn’t budge, John grabbed a rock from the potted plant and aimed it at the door. Luke grabbed it out of his hand. “You can’t break in!”

“I have to,” John said, still drunk, angry, and terrified for his son’s safety.

Luke fished the key out of its hiding spot and held it up. “I am not taking sides.”

“Dean, come out of the window right now. Please, son,” John pleaded. He tried to reach up for Dean but there were too many books piled around him.

“I need coffee,” Luke said, heading to the back door. “I think I saw a light on in Crowley’s.”

“This is about Castiel, isn’t it?” John said

Dean didn’t say anything, but he turned his head just a bit so he could see his dad. John looked worn down. Rather than the perfect picture of a hard working stern father, John looked tired and worried. The expression on his face reminded Dean faintly of his mother, long ago when she’d soothed him through a bad cold or put a bandaid on his knee. Part of it was sympathy, and Dean realized that his father was trying to understand.

“You know, I was in love once… with your mother,” John spoke, pacing a bit. I suppose it was a bit more conventional than what you have going on, but her father... oh, her father. He hated me.”

“Dad…” Dean shifted, glad to see his father trying but uncomfortable having this conversation naked and on display for the world. The piece of cardboard felt thinner by the second.

“Let me talk, son. Your Grandpa Campbell, rest his soul, was a mean son of a gun. He wanted what was best for Mary, and that sure as hell wasn’t some fatherless spit of a kid just back from the marines. Mary and I didn’t start off so great either, so I didn’t have a lot going for me.”

John sighed and ran a hand over his stubbed. “I sure as hell didn’t understand then. I thought he was just a mean old coot that had it out for me. But now I get it. He was just trying to protect your mother. I don’t think I ever understood that as well as I do now.”

Dean shifted uncomfortably and John fixed him with a stare. “Life isn’t easy for homos, Dean.”

“ _Dad_.” Dean groaned.

John raised his hands in mock surrender. “Gays. Sorry. Whatever the politically correct term is. I’m just saying, you’re going to get guys like those picking on you and shoving you around.

Dean groaned. He wanted to tell his dad that he knew exactly what life as a gay man was like because he’d been living it. He wanted to tell his dad that Castiel was well worth the occasional punch in the face or shouted slur. But most of all, he wanted his dad to go away and leave him to his window display before the freaking press showed up.

\--

“You want some coffee, you’re going to have to make it yourself,” Crowley said, pointing to the coffee maker. He was staying late, trying to get his new oven hooked up.

“Thank you, Crowley.” Luke grabbed a mug off the shelf.

“You’re welcome. And you can let Michael know that I called my lawyer. I told him I would, and I did.” The gas outlet hissed, exposed, until he fit the new pipe over it. He tried to screw it on, but it slipped. “Blasted thing doesn’t fit,” he complained.

\--

Luke stumbled out the back door with three coffees in hand. He heard an engine revving and stepped out from behind the building to see the four men from before piling into a truck. “Light the fucking thing, let’s go!” One of them called. Another cackled and they took off around the corner.

Dean saw the truck come around. He saw the lit torches in their hands as they leaned out of the pickup, and he struggled to escape the rope he’d tied his hands with. He only had enough time to pull them free and cover his face before the glass shattered and the torch soared through the room, landing on the carpet in by the books.

He didn’t see the one that broke through the coffee shop window, bouncing on the floor and rolling to a stop where Crowley was working with the gas valve. Tires squealed and the whole world slowed down.

The explosion ripped through the building, shattered glass cutting through the air and showering Dean’s naked body. Everything was bright, and then it was dark, only the residual flames that clung to books lighting the destroyed room. The air was thick with smoke and everything seemed muffled and slow. One of the overhead lights flickered helplessly.

Dean stood on shaky legs, dazed and bleeding. His head felt light and his lungs felt heavy, but his mind was set on one track and one track only. _Dad. Dad was in that explosion. Dad is dead, just like mom. He’s gone._ Dean walked through the room, glass cutting into his bare feet with every step, but all he could think about was his mom’s body going up in flames, and how his dad was going to look just the same. Dead.

“Dad?” He asked brokenly to the dark room, stumbling over a mangled lamp and trying to keep his balance. “Dad? Dad where are you?” He was panicking now, eight years old and utterly alone in the world.

Then distantly, “Dean? Dean!” and his father was there, wrapping him in a blanket and holding him close, brushing ashes out of his hair as he sobbed. “Are you okay?” he asked, picking Dean entirely off the floor to keep his bare feet from any more glass.

“I’m okay, I’m okay,” Dean repeated, eyes squeezed shut.

It was hard to tell if there were actually more voices or if it was just the muffled ringing in Dean’s ears, but it sounded like his father was talking to someone. He said “Crowley,” and the other voice responded, and then Dean was being passed over into another pair of arms. He opened his eyes to blue.

“Cas?!” His voice rattled and he coughed.

“Yeah. You’re safe, Dean.” Castiel carried Dean out of the building, glass crunching beneath his sturdy boots. Across the street was the ridiculous van that Cas called home, and Dean was set gently down on the sidewalk beside it.

“Your father went back to get Crowley,” Cas explained, saving Dean from trying to ask questions. Luke called an ambulance.”

“I love you,” Dean choked out.

His words took Castiel by surprise at first, then a smile spread across his face and he leaned down and kissed Dean gently on his soot covered lips. “I love you too.”

John limped out of the rubble with Crowley hanging on his side. They were both black from soot, bloody from glass, and coughing from the smoke, but they were alive. Michael came running from the other side of the street and tangled himself in Luke’s arms like he’d never get the chance again.

“ _That’s_ Michael?” John croaked, but he couldn’t resist smiling at Luke’s expression of pure bliss.

Ten Percent Books was no more and the coffee shop was even less, but as sirens neared and Dean’s bleeding feet began to ache, he leaned into Castiel’s arms and couldn’t think of anything other than how grateful he was to be alive.

Ten Percent Books was no more and the coffee shop was even less, but even as Dean’s bleeding feet began to ache and people began to gather outside, he couldn’t think of anything other than how grateful he was to be alive. He leaned into Castiel’s arms and kissed him to the sound of sirens.

It was better than pie.

**  
  
**

\---

**  
  
**

[End Credits]

_It’s not long before:_

> __
> 
> _John wins an award as the best new mechanic. He donates the prize money to the benefit for Ten Percent Books._
> 
> __
> 
> _Michael and Luke get married. They sell the apartment Luke’s parents bought and use the money to open a new store._
> 
> __
> 
> _Sam moves into Gabriel’s spare room. He gets accepted to law school and is the top of his class. Gabriel opens a cafe next to Eleven Percent Books._
> 
> __
> 
> _Dean and Castiel go on the road and start a new map of their travels, hitting every art festival and famous landmark across America._
> 
> __
> 
> _Dean writes his first book and calls it Better Than Pie._

 

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed!
> 
> This is my very first complete story. I know it still needs some work (my beta is working on it but she's busybusy and I'm impatient!) so please, constructive criticism is more than welcome! 
> 
> I would like to apologize for two things- one, the erm. _Sexy_ scene with John. In the actual movie Lila, who plays Maggie's (Dean's) mother, discovers a box of toys and there is a much more visual account of what follows. It's hilarious in the movie, but thinking about John like that gives me the heebiejeebies so I cut that out. x.x Second, I would like to apologize for where, at the end, I describe Luke's body as "too weak, too female." I absolutely did not mean to imply that females are weak- That is what Luke feels about his body. 
> 
> Comments and Kudos would mean a ton to me because, like I said, this is my very first finished story!!! And for those of you waiting for more Half a Mile and Hour / Reindeer Games- it's on its way!!!!
> 
> -Fehnryr


End file.
